


The Wraith: Part Two

by TMZai



Series: Mageborn [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 91
Words: 298,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TMZai/pseuds/TMZai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dark Lord's Wraith has established herself among the rest of his Death Eaters, his followers, her position secured by her utter loyalty and power. </p>
<p>But there are secrets hidden away, even within her own memory, that could bring her whole world crashing down. Enemies, known and unknown, surround her. <br/>Now, at Hogwarts, she is watched most carefully by Severus Snape, aided by the portraits of Headmasters past, including Albus Dumbledore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Interval

**Wraith**  
 _Part Two: Rise Of Power_  
  
  
  
  
 **Chapter One: Interval**  
  
  
  
  
 _"To be alone is to be different, to be different is to be alone."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape entered the Headmaster's office and immediately began to pace the length of the room. "The Dark Lord is gone," he said to the portraits, "and the Wraith is settled at the other end of the castle."   
  
"Phineas told us what you heard," Dumbledore said.   
  
"Pity we haven't a clue as to what it means," Snape said bitterly. "All we have are more questions!"   
  
"Perhaps the girl was simply referring to the fact that she's been groomed from birth to be his follower," Dumbledore suggested.   
  
"Things are never that simple for us, Dumbledore. Haven't you figured that out by now?" Snape sighed and all but collapsed into the chair behind the desk. He covered his face with a hand. "And now she's here," he muttered, "and I'm back to guarding my every move twenty-four seven."   
  
He sounded so very tired that each of the portraits above him shared a look.   
  
"Severus, what happened tonight?" Dumbledore asked, trying to draw the man away from the thoughts that weighed him down. "Why was she brought here now?"   
  
"Tzadik had a trap in place," Snape said, sitting up a little straighter. "The moment he died, the entire house began to collapse around us. Wraith sensed that something was off as soon as we entered the house, and refused to kill Tzadik. She suggested that he be taken away from the house first––but Bellatrix took matters into her own hands and dispatched Tzadik herself, setting off the trap. We all made it out––" He frowned slightly, "––partly because of the Wraith. She left no one behind. Once everyone was outside, a piece of that ridiculous tower of Tzadik's broke away. Wraith pushed the Dark Lord to safety and was buried."   
  
He closed his eyes, remembering the sight of the frail-seeming girl disappearing beneath the rubble. He had caught only a glimpse of her face before it had been too late––Was he imagining that her face had been resigned?   
  
"She was able to protect herself from most of the wreckage, but her ankle was all but crushed and her arm was badly broken. The bone of her arm…the splintered bone had pierced through the skin. The Dark Lord set the bone to make it heal faster," he said, recalling too clearly the shock of white bone against the dark stain of blood. "The Dark Lord and I remained with her until she had healed enough to Apparate. We tried to bring her back to Slytherin Manor, but one step onto the grounds had her fighting tooth and nail. So we brought her here instead."   
  
Dumbledore was silent for long moments as he digested the information. "…'She left no one behind'," he quoted slowly, "Severus…"   
  
"She was the last out," Snape said before the question was asked aloud, "I saw her very deliberately save the lives of our fellow Death Eaters and she was adamant about getting  _everyone_  out. Even me," he added with the slightest smile. "Our Lady Death saved lives tonight."   
  
"That can't be discounted, Severus," Dumbledore said, "we've seen other signs…"   
  
"She's still  _dangerous_ , Dumbledore," Snape interceded. "She may very well be the noblest of creatures among the Death Eaters––yet she is among us nonetheless." He sighed again, frowning. "She has a twisted sense of honor, but I think that only disturbs me more."   
  
Phineas cleared his throat, drawing eyes up to him. "For several centuries, there have been accounts of creatures made solely from the will of a witch or wizard; magical constructs. It was the first thing that came to your mind, Headmaster, when you heard the girl call the Dark Lord her 'creator'. But in all honesty, it seems rather impossible."   
  
"It wouldn't be the first time that the Dark Lord has tested the limits of known magic," Snape argued. "There is something…off…about the girl; something not quite human. Those eyes…"   
  
"Constructs have never been known to be strong," Everard said from his portrait, "The girl is what, seventeen or eighteen? The longest living construct I've ever read survived about five years before it burned itself out––and that was an animal construct."   
  
"It's true," Fortescue said, nodding, "there's never been a record of a  _human_  seeming construct."   
  
"We'll keep searching," Dumbledore said before Snape could snap at them for being unhelpful. "Severus––you need to rest."   
  
Snape muttered something evasive. "The Dark Lord will return tomorrow night," he said after a moment's quiet. "No doubt to discuss what happened tonight."   
  
"All the more reason for you to rest," Dumbledore said unswervingly.   
  
"Yes, mother," Snape mumbled under his breath.   
  
Judging by the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye, he had heard Snape quite clearly.   
  
  
  
  
The next evening saw the Death Eaters gathered within the halls of Hogwarts––with one glaring exception. Bellatrix Lestrange had not been seen since their return to Slytherin Manor the night before. Her husband was pale and silent as he entered the room where his fellows gathered.   
  
The room might have been a classroom at some point, but now it was empty save for the long table in the center. At the head of the table sat the Dark Lord, the chairs to his left and right were as yet empty, but he seemed unconcerned with it.   
  
It wasn't until everyone else was seated that the Wraith made her appearance. She stepped into the room with Snape a step behind her and did her best not to flinch as every eye in the room turned to her. She was leaning rather heavily on a plain black cane, favoring her ankle as she walked along the length of the table to the head. The dress she wore was simple and black; the sleeves short, leaving the white scar upon her arm quite visible.   
  
There was only a soft trace of murmurs when she reached her Lord. She dipped slightly, still leaning on the cane, "My Lord."   
  
"My Wraith," the Dark Lord replied, gesturing for her to sit.   
  
She did so, leaning the cane against the table. Voldemort touched his hand to her arm, stroking the scar there. Snape bowed to the Dark Lord, who nodded in return. Once Snape had taken his seat to the Dark Lord's right, they began.   
  
"Last night was entirely too close," Voldemort said shortly.   
  
"We never could have imagined Tzadik sacrificing himself just to destroy us, my Lord," Lucius said hesitantly. "He was never…hm."   
  
"I don't think he intended too," Wraith said softly, then she fell silent.   
  
"Speak on, my pet," Voldemort told her.   
  
"He wasn't afraid of me…at least, he wasn't afraid enough. He was  _not_  the one who cast that spell, remember. He was entirely too confident. I think, perhaps, that he was tricked."   
  
"If he was approached by a group claiming they could make him immune to the Wraith's power, Tzadik would have been fool enough to believe them. He was a desperate man by the time we caught up with him, my Lord," Snape said.   
  
"There is sense to what you say," Voldemort said, sitting back in his chair.   
  
"My Lady," Rodolphus said suddenly, drawing eyes to him.   
  
Wraith felt a sense of foreboding when she met his gaze, but she held it nonetheless. "Yes, Rodolphus?"   
  
"How did you know?" he demanded of her, his voice low.   
  
Wraith considered him. "I didn't," she said at last. "I merely felt that something was wrong. The spells that tied Tzadik to his house were unfamiliar to me and very strong. And I didn't trust his eyes."   
  
Rodolphus started to speak again, but was stopped by his brother. Rabastan laid a firm hand on Rodolphus's shoulder before the words left his mouth.   
  
"Brother," Rabastan said, "you're acting ungrateful. We all owe the Lady Wraith our lives. It is not her fault that your wife acted the fool."   
  
Rodolphus started to rise, pushing his brother hand away.   
  
"Rodolphus," Wraith said softly. The man turned, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Come here," the girl instructed.   
  
Rodolphus frowned, suddenly fearful.   
  
"Come  _here_ ," she repeated more firmly.   
  
"Do as she says," Voldemort said simply.   
  
Rodolphus hesitated only a moment more before he made his way to the head of the table. He stood beside the Wraith's chair and she gestured for him to kneel. A flash of irritation crossed the man's face, but he knelt, putting her head above his. Wraith looked at him, glare for glare.   
  
"The Dark Lord has told me of your wife's intended punishment," she told him.   
  
"She's locked in the dungeons," Rodolphus said bitterly. "She never wanted to be caged again."   
  
"I understand," Wraith said. "Trust me, I understand  _completely_. But know this, Rodolphus, before you make the choice to hate me––You owe me the life of your unborn child."   
  
Rodolphus started, caught entirely off-guard. "You–– _what_?"   
  
"She speaks the truth, Lestrange," Voldemort said. "If it had been entirely my choice, I would have had Bellatrix tortured for her grave mistake. Such torture would have likely caused her to miscarry. But my Wraith asked for leniency for the sake of the innocent. I was not inclined to deny her after what she had endured last night."   
  
Wraith touched a hand to Rodolphus's chin and leaned a little closer, her words for his ears alone. "If you're going to hate me, then hate me for the right reasons, Rodolphus Lestrange. Your wife will survive this. She even has my pity though in all honesty I hate her."   
  
He was silent, unable to take his eyes from hers. She read the anger and hatred in his eyes and understood both. "Go," she murmured, taking her eyes away.   
  
Rodolphus stood at once and went back to his seat. He did not speak again throughout the meeting. Wraith preferred this.    
  
  
  
  
It was not yet midnight when the Death Eaters departed from Hogwarts, leaving only the Dark Lord, his Wraith, and Snape within. They remained within the room, though Snape stood to pace the floor.   
  
"So," Voldemort said, reaching to take the cane.   
  
"Severus's idea," Wraith admitted. "He thought it would be best to…hm,  _remind_  everyone what nearly happened to me."   
  
"An effective prop," the Dark Lord said.   
  
"She  _was_  limping," Snape added, making Wraith turn a glare on him.   
  
Voldemort smirked, looking to his Wraith. He was amused by her glare and touched a hand to her cheek. Wraith looked to him expectantly. "Are you enjoying Hogwarts so far, my pet?"   
  
"It's quiet here," she replied softly, "Peaceful."   
  
"Something you've had little of, really," Voldemort said, completing her unsaid thought. He stood, brushing his hand over the scar on her arm as he did so. "Walk me out, my pet," he told her, "I must return to the Manor."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith said as she stood as well, only a little disappointed.   
  
The Dark Lord offered the cane back to her, smirking. Her eyes narrowed at his amusement and did not take the cane. Instead, she slipped her arm through his. Voldemort's amused smile widened and he led the way down to the entrance hall. Snape hesitated a moment before he followed a few paces behind.   
  
When they reached the front doors, Voldemort stopped and turned to his Wraith. "I will visit again," he said idly. "See that you rest in the meantime, my pet."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," she said, bowing her head. She saw Snape out of the corner of her eye and felt the sting of hatred in her breast, though she realized it wasn't nearly as strong as it had been months before.   
  
 _I won't forgive him_ , she swore to herself as the Dark Lord took his leave.  _But I can live with him._  
  
As if he could read her thoughts, Snape bowed his head to her. Their eyes met and again she felt that strange understanding pass between them.   
  
"I'm going to bed," she said, turning her eyes away. "This castle is impressively in its size," she added, glancing back, "It should be quite easy for us to avoid one another here."   
  
"I agree," Snape said simply. "Goodnight, Lady Wraith."   
  
"Goodnight," she replied softly.


	2. The Castle

_"Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for."_  
  
  
  
  
"Thoughts?" queried Snape as he sat behind the desk.   
  
"She's rather intelligent," Phineas said, running his hand down his goatee, "Very sharp for a girl her age."   
  
"Something she's gleaned from the Dark Lord," Snape said. "Her mind seems to work in the same twisted pattern."   
  
"You were very right about them," Dumbledore said slowly, "They are disturbingly close…though it seems to me that the Wraith knows this and doesn't entirely like it."   
  
"She's been distant from him for months, not that the Dark Lord has noticed," Snape said, "ever since that vampire left…"   
  
"She's hiding something from her Lord, I think," Dumbledore said, "Did you notice that she never quite met his eyes when they spoke?"   
  
"I hadn't noticed," Snape realized, thinking back, "Interesting. I wonder…"   
  
"What?" Dumbledore asked.   
  
"I wonder if it has something to do with that desk of hers, back at the Manor," Snape said, "She's ridiculously protective of it. And she was very unhappy when I discovered that vial of hellebore. I still have no idea what use she was planning to put it to. Hm."   
  
"What are you thinking?" Dumbledore asked after a long moment of silence.   
  
"That desk of hers is still at the Manor," Snape said slowly, "and she's weak enough that she won't be able to bring it here for some time yet. I highly doubt that she would place enough trust in someone to bring it here  _for_  her, so it's stuck in that tower for the time being. I was just thinking that perhaps I could find an excuse to go back to the Manor…try and take a closer look, so to speak."   
  
"Severus, I'm certain she'll have protections still around it," Dumbledore told him.   
  
"Yes, but perhaps without her there to stop me, I could find some way around them," Snape retorted. "There's something important about that desk and what she's hidden inside of it, I'm positive."   
  
"Severus," Dumbledore said, "Have you considered trying to make amends with her? As you've observed, she's desperately low on people that she can confide. Perhaps if you––"   
  
"If I what?" Snape demanded, "If I apologized for saving her life? I don't think so, Dumbledore. It was not my fault that Vivaldi chose to leave. Their own actions led to it. Besides, she wouldn't believe me if I tried."   
  
A deadened silence slithered through the room.   
  
"…Phineas," Snape said, "I want you to keep an eye on her."   
  
"Oh well, if you insist," Phineas drawled. "There are a couple of rather lovely landscapes hanging in her rooms, I can observe from them. Shall I go now?"   
  
Snape nodded shortly. "Report only when you have something of interest to tell me," he told the portrait firmly.   
  
"As you wish, Headmaster."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith woke for the third morning of her time at the castle, feeling oddly restless. She had spent the previous two days hidden away in her rooms, too tired to move beyond them. But as Wraith stared out the window of her bedroom, she realized she'd caged herself.   
  
The morning had dawned only minutes before, a thin layer of fog drifting over the lake and across the grounds. Wraith made herself comfortable in the window seat, leaning back against the soft cushions there and felt the slightest smile come to her face. She had not lied to the Dark Lord; Hogwarts  _was_  the most peaceful of places to her. She wondered just how long she would be able to remain there undisturbed.   
  
As the fog began to clear, Wraith sighed and slipped from the window seat to dress. She started towards the door, but paused to take up her cloak as well. In her weakened state, she realized that she was feeling the cold a little more than usual. With her cloak wrapped tight over her shoulders, she started out.   
  
The halls of the castle echoed her every step. Wraith wondered if she had ever before felt so totally alone. She knew very well that Snape was somewhere within the castle as well, along with a multitude of house-elves, but even knowing that did not change that feeling of isolation.   
  
It took her longer to find the entrance hall that she expected, but she did not mind the length of the walk. The halls were littered with interesting paintings and portraits for her to observe. The further she went, the more the portraits outnumbered the landscapes, and she was able to watch the inhabitants of the paintings move about within their frames. She found them fascinating. And more than one of them seemed to find her just as fascinating as well.   
  
Once in the entrance hall, Wraith paused, staring at the closed doors that led to the Great Hall. Memories clouded her sight for a moment as she recalled the night she had first met Janesch. And although good had come from that night, for just an instant, she heard the screams of Katherine Talbot echoing from the room beyond the doors.   
  
Wraith suppressed a shiver and pressed on towards the front doors. She slipped out of the castle in silence and took in the picturesque view of the grounds before her. She breathed in the cold air and again, she smiled a little. She felt almost as she had that first day of freedom at the Malfoys' home. She  _was_  free again, at least for a time. It would be months before the Dark Lord called upon his Lady Death again.  _Time enough_ , she thought silently as she smiled faltered. Shaking her head as if trying to dislodge her darker thoughts, she started down the steps towards the lake's edge.   
  
As she walked slowly down the slightly sloping field, she clutched her cloak a little tighter around her. A slight wind had picked up around her, chilling the air even more. Looking up towards the sky, Wraith realized that heavy clouds had moved in, threatening rain. Ignoring the threat, she reached the edge of the water. The wind was stirring the lake into small waves that lapped against the shore with more and more force.   
  
Wraith stood there at the water's edge, an odd sense of peace overcoming her. She felt as though she could remain there for hours on end, just staring out across the lake.   
  
Her reverie was broken suddenly by loud barking. Wraith turned quickly, eyes wide with fear. A great black boarhound was bounding towards her, clearly having come from the rough wooden hut several yards away.   
  
Wraith froze, hesitating to call upon her magic so soon. But the great dog slowed as it reached her, its tail wagging fiercely. Wraith quickly realized that it meant her no harm.   
  
"Hello," she murmured, bending slightly and reaching out a hand. The dog had nearly reached her when a loud voice boomed over the grounds.   
  
" _Fang_!" Wraith winced at the strength of the shout and so did the hound.   
  
Wraith lifted her gaze to the hut, startled by the sight of the giant of a man standing at the door of it. "Fang!" the man called again, more sharply. "Git back here!" The dog wined and wagged his tail once more, looking from Wraith to his owner and back again. "Come on, ye great mutt! Git away!"   
  
Fang gave a huffing breath that sounded a great deal like a disappointed sigh and turned away from Wraith, bounding back up to the hut.   
  
Wraith slowly straightened, drawing back the offered hand until it was pressed against her heart.   
  
 _He knows who I am_. She could see the man's face clearly and the fears and dislike upon it as well.  _I wouldn't have hurt the dog_ , she wanted to say, but she had a feeling that the giant of a man didn't want to listen.   
  
Moving slowly, Wraith took a step back from him, the back of her heel hitting the water behind her. She dropped her gaze to the ground and turned away, walking along the water's edge until she was a good distance away. Only then did she glance back at them.   
  
It was ridiculous, but Wraith felt her lower lip tremble despite herself. She suddenly felt so very tired. Moving in something of a fog, she sat at the shore, letting the water lap against her feet and the hem of her dress. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin there, staring out at the water once more, but with a strangely heavier heart.   
  
  
  
  
Snape looked up as heavy raindrop began to beat against the windowpane. With a gesture of his wand, he lit a fire in the grate, spilling warmth into the office. He considered having one of the house-elves bring him a cup of tea or coffee.   
  
At a sudden thought, he looked up to the portraits. "Phineas, is the Wraith still in her rooms?"   
  
"No, Headmaster," Phineas replied, gazing out the window from his frame, "she went outside a little while ago. From what I could see, she was heading down to the lake."   
  
"Hm," Snape pushed his chair away from the desk and went to the window, gazing down at the lake. He frowned when he saw the slim cloaked figure still sitting at the lake's edge, unmoving despite the rain. "I'll be right back," he said to Dumbledore as he went to the door.   
  
As he reached the front doors of the castle, he conjured an umbrella before heading down to the lake where Wraith was sitting. She didn't even seem to realize he had come up beside her. Snape frowned down at her, perturbed by her masklike expression. Her black hair was already soaked and clung to her thin face.   
  
"Wraith?"   
  
She blinked slowly and then turned her head in his general direction.   
  
"Wraith," Snape said again, "come in out of the rain." She didn't move and he wondered vaguely if she'd even heard him speak. He bent slightly, holding out a hand where she could see it. "Child, get up," he told her, "You're getting soaked out here."   
  
Wraith blinked at the offered hand and then sighed. She uncurled her legs and got to her feet unaided. Snape saw the hem of her dress was soaked right through and realized she'd been sitting half in the rising water. He had the umbrella hovering above their heads and unclasped his cloak, throwing it over her shoulders instead. Wraith frowned slightly, but she clung to it nevertheless as they walked back up to the castle.   
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Snape saw Hagrid coming out of the woods with his crossbow and a pheasant thrown over his shoulder. His boarhound Fang had already reached the hut before his owner. Fang barked happily and Snape was curious to see Wraith wince slightly at the sound.  _Now what is that about_? He wondered as he turned his head to study her.   
  
"Are you feeling any better?" he asked when they'd reached the entrance hall.   
  
"A little," Wraith replied dully as she handed his cloak back to him. "Thank you."   
  
"I was going to have tea," he said, surprising himself, "Shall I have the house-elves bring something to your rooms?"   
  
"…That would be nice," she said after a moment of stunned silence. She put a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes. "I think I need to lie down again," she murmured.   
  
"A sound idea," Snape agreed.   
  
Wraith nodded slightly and turned away, heading for the stairs. "Um," she said, looking back but not directly at him, "…Thank you, Severus."   
  
"You're welcome," Snape replied softly as she turned away again. He didn't think she could hear him.   
  
  
  
  
By the time that Snape reached his office again, the house-elves had already set a tray with tea and cakes upon his desk. He sighed contentedly at the sight and hung his cloak back up.   
  
"Is the girl alright?" Dumbledore asked.   
  
"She's fine," Snape replied, sitting down, "I think she's a little out of sorts, but at least she isn't confining herself to her rooms anymore."   
  
He glanced up and was glad to see that Phineas was not in his frame. The former Headmaster had returned to his post as a spy within the girl's rooms. Snape poured himself a cup of tea and settled back into the chair.   
  
"I think she might have run into Hagrid," he said after a sip. "I'm wondering if he said something that upset her, though I can't imagine what––"   
  
"Er––Headmaster?"   
  
Snape grimaced and turned towards Phineas's portrait where he'd reappeared. "What is it?"   
  
Phineas looked uneasy. "It's the girl," he said at last, "She's, well…The house-elves brought her tea as you requested of them. She sat at the table where they'd left it for her and just…well, she just  _stared_  at it. Then she just broke out into tears! She's laid her head on the table and is just utterly  _sobbing_."   
  
Snape suddenly felt as uneasy as Phineas appeared to be. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, frowning deeply.   
  
"Should you go and check on her?" Dumbledore suggested softly.   
  
"I––No, Dumbledore, I don't think so," Snape said, shaking his head. "What could I possibly say to her in any case? I don't think she'd appreciate me seeing her like that, anyhow."   
  
"Yes," Dumbledore said sadly, "You're probably right."   
  
Snape sighed deeply, staring into the fireplace. "Phineas, go back down and keep an eye on her. Let me know if she leaves her room again."   
  
"Yes, Headmaster."   
  
Snape sat in silence for a long time, frowning into his tea.


	3. Song

_"Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent."_  
  
  
  
  
Three weeks went by in silence and peace before Snape realized that the Dark Lord had yet to return to visit his Wraith as he'd said he would. He had only glimpsed the girl now and then within the castle, though Phineas continued to keep an eye on her.   
  
As the summer rain continued to fall upon Hogwarts, Wraith seemed content to wander within the castle. Phineas reported back that she had found the library a few days before and had returned there each day after.   
  
"She's a quiet little thing, wanders the halls like a ghost," Phineas told him.   
  
"Hmph," was Snape's only reply, though Phineas's words brought to mind the nickname of 'little ghost' that Vivaldi had so often named her. "Could she be missing him, do you think?" he asked Dumbledore, "The Dark Lord?"   
  
"I––I don't think that's it," Dumbledore said, thinking out loud, "At least––not  _entirely_. She seems so very––tired. Do you see it, Severus?"   
  
"I do," Snape said, "It's almost as if she were half-hypnotized. She walks around like she's in a fog." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his own tired eyes. He pushed away from the desk, crossing to the door as he said, "I'm going down to the library myself."   
  
"Whatever for?" Dumbledore asked, surprised.   
  
"I want to know what the girl's been reading," Snape replied, raising an eyebrow. "Phineas, is she down there now?"   
  
"I don't know," Phineas replied, shrugging lightly. "I did not see her leave, but I've not heard a sound down there for a little over an hour now. It's possible she's somewhere out of sight of the various portraits down there."   
  
"Well, I suppose I'll find out for myself," Snape murmured, closing the door softly behind him.   
  
When he reached the entrance to the library, he was unsurprised to see the doors wide open. Standing in the doorway, he cast a subtle charm to see what had been moved recently. A soft glow overtook each book that had been taken from the shelf and then returned. He followed the glow through the relative gloom of the library to the section that included a collection of histories.   
  
 _Now what interest has she in history_? He wondered as he skimmed over each title.  _Perhaps looking for clues as to what she truly is? As I recall, she still has questions concerning that._    
  
It wasn't until he's reached the back of the library that he realized that he was not alone.   
  
 _So she is still here._  
  
Moving as quietly as he could, Snape walked around the edge of a cluster of couches and chairs all but hidden behind the shelves. The Wraith was laid out over one couch, fast asleep. She had her left arm curled up next to her head, the other hanging off the edge of the couch.   
  
Snape knelt to retrieve the book she had apparently dropped when she'd drifting into sleep. He smirked to see the title.  _Hogwarts: A History. Of course._    
  
As he set the book upon a nearby table, he found his eyes drawn back to the sleeping girl. She looked so very frail. There were heavy shadows beneath her eyes and she was still far too thin, despite the weeks that had gone by.   
  
Frowning slightly, Snape knelt beside the couch again, this time to get a closer look at her right arm.  _There's absolutely no trace of a scar left…It's as if it was never there to begin with_. So her physical wounds had healed…but what of those inflicted upon her mind? For a girl who had already been slightly claustrophobic, what had it been like for her to be buried beneath that rubble, trapped under stone and mortar?   
  
" _Psst_."   
  
Snape's head snapped around at the hiss. He rose quietly and searched for the source of the sound. He found a small painting of what seemed to be a simple drawing room. Within the painting was Phineas.   
  
"She's here," Snape confirmed softly, "It looks like she fell asleep while reading."   
  
"I'm not at all surprised," Phineas said, his voice low. "She's doesn't sleep well," he added simply. "I've watched her pace her floors for hours on end at night. If I didn't know any better, I'd hazard a guess that she was  _afraid_  to sleep. She is afraid to see what's waiting for her behind her eyes."   
  
Snape did not approve of the stylish turn of phrase Phineas was prone to use––but he had to admit that the former Headmaster just might have been correct. Moving back to where he could see Wraith, he watched her in silence for a few minutes. He could see her eyes frantically darting from side to side beneath closed lids and the slight frown upon her face. He could also see the faint trace of the Dark Mark upon her pale arm and it disturbed him to see it.   
  
 _Why is it so easy for me to pity her? She may be the most dangerous enemy I have_. Without thinking, he reached down to brush a strand of hair from her face. He quickly jerked his hand back, cursing himself mentally. But still the girl slept on.   
  
 _What_  are  _you?_  Snape asked her silently.  _And what am I going to do with you?_  
  
He left her sleeping there in the library, returning to the Headmaster's office with a great deal on his mind. He scowled just slightly to see Phineas had beaten him back to the office. "Get back down there," he ordered swiftly, "and inform me when she wakes."   
  
"As you wish, Headmaster," Phineas said with a careless shrug before disappearing beyond the frame of his portrait.   
  
"You're a great deal alike."   
  
Snape frowned at Dumbledore as he sat behind the desk. "I beg your pardon?"   
  
"You and Wraith," Dumbledore told him, "That is what disturbs you, I think."   
  
"You're insane," Snape sputtered.   
  
"It has been said before," Dumbledore agreed with a twinkling smile. "But the Wraith  _doesn't_  think like the Dark Lord, Severus––she thinks like _you_."   
  
  
  
  
It wasn't until early evening that Phineas returned to his portrait. Snape saw his entrance from the corner of his eye and turned to him. "Has she left the library?"   
  
"She has," Phineas replied, nodding, "She appeared a bit groggy, but still far better rested than I've seen her before." He hesitated a moment, a quirked smile upon his face, "…She  _did_  notice that the book she'd been reading was not where she left it, by the way."   
  
Snape kept his face carefully blank. "Let her think that one of the house-elves did it," he said. "Where is she now?"   
  
"Wandering again," Phineas said simply. "She's over on the third floor now, in the Charms corridor."   
  
"Well then, that's where you should be," Snape told him. "Thank you, Phineas."   
  
"You know, Phineas," Dumbledore said before Phineas could take his leave, "I think I'll join you." Dumbledore had a feeling that Snape had not forgiven him for his earlier observation, truthful or not.   
  
They both disappeared before Snape could protest. He sat back in his chair, scowling slightly.   
  
 _"The Wraith doesn't think like the Dark Lord, Severus––she thinks like you."_  
  
"Crazy old man," Snape muttered under his breath.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith walked slowly down the darkened corridor, eyes drifting lazily as she went along her way. She had a feeling that she could spend months wandering the halls of the school and never see the third of what the castle had to hide.   
  
 _I could spend a lifetime here and never be sick of it_ , she thought as she ran a hand along the stone wall in an almost fond gesture.   
  
The empty classrooms she simply walked past without any interest to explore them further, but halfway down the corridor she discovered what had to have been a teacher's office. Curious now, Wraith slipped inside.   
  
It was a simple set up, with an empty desk and filing cabinets stacked behind it. Wraith frowned slightly at the chair that was set behind the desk––There were a great many cushions piled upon the seat. Then her frowned cleared as she understood.  _This must have been the Charms Master's office_. She recalled from Draco that the Charms professor was extremely short in stature.   
  
The errant memory made her wonder how Draco was doing. It shocked her a bit to think that she had not seen him or Narcissa for months.   
  
Wraith was about to leave the office when she noticed a second door. She tilted her head to one side, her interest peaked once more. She went to the door and slowly opened it, peaking inside.   
  
"Oh."   
  
Her breath caught at the sight before her.   
  
It was a music room. And in the center of the room was a grand piano. Moving almost in a trance, she approached the instrument, holding out a trembling hand to touch it. The surface was completely clear of dust and Wraith felt the charm hovering over it that kept the dust and such away.   
  
 _I wonder_ , she thought as she sat at the bench,  _has the same charm kept it in tune?_  She lifted the lid from the keys and an ascending chord. The sweet ringing sound almost made her want to cry. With a grateful sigh, she began to play.   
  
  
  
  
"Severus," Dumbledore called as he entered his portrait again. "Severus, you must come down to see this."   
  
"What are you babbling about?" Snape asked irritably.   
  
"Wraith has found Filius's piano."   
  
Snape frowned at him. "I'd forgotten that was there," he murmured.   
  
Curious despite himself, he made his way down to the third floor, following the soft sound of the music drifting down the corridor. At the door of Flitwick's office, he paused, simply listened to the melody the girl played. He walked as softly as he could to the door to Flitwick's old music room where he could see her.   
  
"What is that she's playing?" he whispered the question to the portrait inside the office.   
  
"I believe it is Beethoven's  _Moonlight Sonata_ ," Dumbledore replied just as softly, "Such a sad melody," he added in a whisper.   
  
Wraith played the song a touch more slowly than she really should have, but without the music in front of her, she wasn't as sure of the notes as she felt she should have been. Her eyes were closed and she was absorbed enough in the music that she did not realize she had gained an audience in the various paintings that hung around the breadth of the room.   
  
Slowly, the song came to an end, the last note disappearing into the air. Wraith's fingers hovered over the now silent keys, her eyes fluttering open.   
  
"Oh, God, I've missed this. I hadn't realized just how much."   
  
Snape slowly edged into the room. "No piano in Slytherin Manor?"   
  
"No," Wraith said simply, seemingly unperturbed by his sudden presence. "This is the first I've played…since I left the Malfoys' almost a year ago…" She frowned slightly, but she didn't seem aware of it.   
  
"Why didn't you ever ask one for one from the Dark Lord, if you missed it so badly?"   
  
"It never occurs to me to ask anything of him," Wraith replied. "It's so difficult to simply ask something of him. It always seemed better to fight for something with him…there's no real sense of accomplishment otherwise."   
  
She laughed softly and trailed her fingertips along the ivory. "No," she said softly. "I'm glad I never asked. That place was no place for music…If I had ever played there… I would have ended up hating it…" Her voice trailed off and she blinked suddenly. "Sorry," she said, her voice clearer. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"   
  
"Perhaps you make too much."   
  
Wraith turned towards him as if she had just realized he was there.   
  
Snape cleared his throat. "You play rather well," he told her.   
  
"I'm out of practice," Wraith said dismissively, turning away from him again.   
  
"I believe that Flitwick had a collection of music books in that cabinet over there," Snape said, gesturing casually to the corner of the room. And before she could respond to that, he had disappeared through the door and was gone.   
  
Wraith frowned after him for a moment, but then she hurried to the cabinet to see what she could find.


	4. Recovery

_"We don't always get to choose what we love."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape had ensconced himself within a small sitting room on the ground floor. He had chosen the room for the simple fact that it held no paintings or portraits. He had a need to be alone, if only for a short while. He felt overburdened with heavy thoughts as he sat in the near perfect silence.   
  
At the forefront of his mind was the Wraith. It had been several days since she had discovered the piano and now seemed content to divide her time between the music room and the library. Snape had gone to listen to her play from a distance a few times, noting the increasing melancholy that crept its way into the music. Yet despite that, it was beautiful to hear. Listening to her play, Snape found that he could forget for a time, as lost in the music as she.   
  
But the more he heard her play, the more he gleaned from Phineas and Dumbledore about her––the harder it was to imagine the time that would have to come––The time when he might be forced to be rid of her.  _If the Dark Lord orders her to hunt Potter…I can't let that happen._  
  
As absorbed in his thoughts as he was, he did not realize his solitude had been broken until he heard the soft knock upon the door. He started at the sound, his hand going for his wand. He frowned at Wraith, who stood in the doorway with a wane face. Snape's frown deepened when he saw the expression of apprehension in her eyes, but before he could speak, she cut him off.   
  
"He's here."   
  
With that simple statement, the girl turned on her heel and walked away. Cursing silently, Snape stood and followed her out to the entrance hall. Together they stood at the top of the front steps, watching the cloaked figure upon the path approach them. Snape studied Wraith's face out of the corner of his eye. He noted with interest that the uneasiness had not left her eyes, nor had the slight frown upon her face.   
  
"Are you well?" he asked under his breath.   
  
"Shut it, Snape."   
  
He rolled his eyes at her tone, but dropped the question.   
  
As Voldemort reached the bottom of the steps, Snape bowed low. "Welcome, my Lord."   
  
"Severus," Voldemort replied, nodding his head. "My Wraith," he said, looking now to the girl. "And are you recovering, pet?"   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith said simply.   
  
Snape frowned deeply as the Dark Lord touched a hand beneath the girl's chin, lifting her face towards his. Wraith's eyes closed briefly and when they opened once more she seemed suddenly steadier on her feet. She smiled slightly at her Lord and he released her–– But as Voldemort walked past her into the castle, her smile fell away. Snape glanced at the Dark Lord's back and then looked back to Wraith, the question clear in his eyes. But Wraith did not look his way. Closing her eyes again, she turned on her heel to follow Voldemort into the Great Hall.   
  
"I've called a meeting," Voldemort said from the center of the Hall. "The others will be here shortly, but I wanted to see you first, my pet."   
  
Snape cleared his throat lightly and bowed his head. "My Lord, I will see to preparing the drawing room for when the others arrive."   
  
"Thank you, Severus," Voldemort said lightly, his eyes never leaving his Wraith.   
  
It wasn't until Snape had shut the great doors behind him that Wraith moved. In a sudden snapping gesture, she looked to her Lord. "Have you found them?" she asked bluntly, "the ones who set the trap?"   
  
Voldemort considered her for a long moment. "No," he said at last. "They've effectively disappeared into the woodwork of the resistance. Come over here, pet."   
  
Wraith's hesitation was conquered swiftly enough that the Dark Lord did not seem to notice it. She came close enough to him that he caught the scent of her, the soft rose and rain that so intrigued him.   
  
Again, he touched a hand beneath her chin. "Are you taking care of yourself, my Wraith?" he demanded softly, his tone carrying an edge of warning. "It has been nearly a month and yet I see no improvement in you." He tilted his head to one side. "Was the damage so significant?"   
  
Wraith met his eyes briefly before she turned her head away. "I've no proper answer for you," she told him, "beyond that I  _have_  been taking care of myself. I've not used even a touch of my magic since coming here, yet there are still mornings that I wake up hurting."   
  
She winced, not having meant to say that last part. She turned slightly at the sound of many footsteps out in the entrance hall. "The others seem to have arrived," she said, "Should we––?"   
  
Voldemort grabbed her arm, spinning her back towards him and pulling her closer. Wraith shut her eyes, tensed in his hold, and half expecting some sort of punishment. But Voldemort simply lifted his hand and cradled her cheek against it. With a soft sound, Wraith leaned into his touch, her eyes still firmly shut. Voldemort leaned his head down, his mouth brushing against her other cheek as he whispered to her, "I need you whole again, my Wraith."   
  
"I'm working on it," she replied, with the slightest smile. She heard him laugh once under his breath and he started to pull away, but she reached up and took hold of his wrist, keeping him there. "Not yet," she murmured. A satisfied smile slid across the Dark Lord's face and he remained close, slipping his other hand around her waist. Wraith touched her free hand to his shoulder, her eyes half opening to meet his. "I've missed you," she told him in a whisper.  _And I think I hate myself for it._  
  
The selfish pleasure her words brought him flashed in his serpentine eyes. "Have you, now?" he murmured, "My poor pet," he whispered as his mouth traced the line of her jaw.   
  
Wraith leaned her head back until their eyes met again. In the space of a moment, Voldemort's hand slipped around to the back of her neck and she had tilted her head up to meet his lips with her own. Wraith's breath escaped her in a sigh as her lips parted beneath his, the line of her body contoured to his. Voldemort's hand twisted in her dark hair, pulling her closer still as if he meant to devour her. Wraith tilted her head, giving more as she took his face into her hands. She gasped as he bit her lip and clung all the more.   
  
There was almost an air of desperation to the hunger that burned just beneath her skin that called to the hunger beneath his. He took the desperation and demanded more as his mouth plundered hers.   
  
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, they broke apart. Wraith struggled to regain the breath he had taken from her, still cradling his face in her hands. Voldemort studied her eyes, intrigued and almost astonished.   
  
" _Well_ ," was all he said when his own breath had returned.   
  
Wraith smiled slightly, a cool humor to it. "Perhaps that whole 'near-death-experience' is finally getting me," she suggested lightly. Very slowly, she stepped back away from him and out of his hold. "They're no doubt waiting for us," she reminded her Lord gently.   
  
"A pity you are right," he said. "Come," he added as he stepped past her.   
  
Wraith turned and followed him, satisfaction and self-hatred warring desperately inside her, though she kept both carefully hidden from her face.   
  
  
  
  
The meeting passed quickly and Wraith was glad for it. She knew perfectly well that each and every Death Eater before her was watching for the same thing that the Dark Lord was––weakness. And whether they did so out of concern for themselves or––perhaps only in the case of Harper––for her, it was endlessly tiring.   
  
The most important bit of information she'd leaned from the meeting was that Dolohov and Rabastan had been put to the task of hunting down Nicole Meadows and any that aided. Rabastan looked particularly proud of the assignment.   
  
"The girl is young," Voldemort said to the two men, "but she had proved herself to be clever, devious even. She does not seem to have her comrades' qualms of conscience."   
  
"The longer this war goes on," Wraith said softly, drawing every eye to her, "the more desperate your enemies will become… and the more they'll sink to our level."   
  
Voldemort smiled just slightly, the expression cold. "That…is an interesting and accurate observation, my Wraith," he said slowly, "and one that you all must bear in mind as we continue to face those that oppose us." He sat back, gesturing towards the door. "You are dismissed," he said as he stood and crossed to the fireplace.   
  
Slowly at first and then as quick as they could manage, the Death Eaters made their way out of the room–– except for two. Her eyes on the Dark Lord, Wraith did not realize it until one had reached her side. When he cleared his throat softly, she spun back, eyes narrowed. But she let out a breath when she realized who it was.   
  
"Harper," she said gently as the boy knelt beside her chair.   
  
"My Lady," Harper said, bowing his head. "I…I  _really_  hope you'll forgive me for this..."   
  
"Forgive you for what?" Wraith asked him, slightly amused.   
  
"Well…I sort of…went into your tower back at the Manor."   
  
Wraith's slight smile froze. "And why did you do that?" she asked softly with an edge of warning.   
  
"To bring you this," he said, holding it out to her.   
  
It was the music box Janesch had given her. Wraith stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment before she reached out to take it.   
  
"I thought you'd want it," Harper said quietly, worried by the incredible sadness suddenly clear in her eyes.   
  
"Harper," Wraith said again, smiling. "Thank you."   
  
"So you forgive me then?" he asked hopefully.   
  
"Well, this certainly weighs heavily in your favor," she told him with a smirk, "I'll consider it."   
  
Harper grinned, eyes glittering with humor as he stood. "That's all I can ask, my Lady…your consideration."   
  
Wraith laughed softly, gazing down at the little music box again.   
  
"Er––my Lady?"   
  
"Yes, Harper?" she replied, looking up at him.   
  
"You know I'm only just down in Hogsmeade," Harper said quickly and quietly, "if you ever wanted company…"   
  
He did not miss the quick glance Wraith made to the Dark Lord's back, nor the slight worry in her eyes. "Another thing I'll consider," she told him. "Thank you, Harper."   
  
He bowed low. "My Lady." He then took his leave as swiftly as the others had.   
  
"That boy is infatuated with you," Snape informed her.   
  
"No, he's not," Wraith replied simply, sadly, "not really." She pushed her chair away from the table and stood carefully. "Forgive me, my Lord, but I am very tired," she said, "May I––?"   
  
"Go and rest," Voldemort told her, "I will return another time."   
  
"My Lord," she said, bending. She turned, pressing the music box against her heart as she left.      
  
Voldemort watched her go, his inhuman face giving nothing for Snape to read. "It's the first of June," the Dark Lord said almost conversationally. "I want you to keep a close eye on my Wraith, Severus," he instructed. "Keep a watch for her nightmares, especially if they seem…severe."   
  
"Do you expect something along the lines of last August, my Lord?" Snape asked him.  
  
"Something of the sort," Voldemort said, his tone distracted.   
  
"I'll keep watch as you order," Snape said, "and I'll report anything of note."   
  
"I'll expect nothing less of you."   
  
  
  
  
It was later in the night that Phineas reported back to Snape. "Well, she's gone and done it."   
  
"Done what?" Snape asked with a sigh.   
  
"Brought that desk of hers to the castle," Phineas elaborated, "just as you said she might."   
  
Snape cursed mentally. "It probably occurred to her when Harper brought her that blasted music box," he muttered.   
  
"Yes, about that music box," Phineas said, "why is it so important to her?"   
  
"The vampire gave it to her," Snape replied, "Vivaldi, shortly before he left her." A sudden thought occurred to him and he sat straighter. "How is she?" he asked of the portrait. "What did that use of magic do to her?"   
  
"You are correct to wonder," Phineas said, frowning. "She's exhausted herself, crawled into her bed right after the task was done. It seemed to me that she was having a little trouble breathing."   
  
This time Snape cursed aloud. "We can only hope that a good amount of time passes before the Dark Lord returns to see her," he said with a scowl. "He won't be happy that she's brought herself back to nothing."He sighed, rubbing a hand over tired eyes. "I  _wish_  I knew why that desk is so important to her!"   
  
"Well,  _I_ , for one, wish we knew what passed between the Wraith and her Lord in the Great Hall," Phineas commented with an arched brow. "And I wonder if it was coincidence that had He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named choosing a room with no portraits or paintings."   
  
"Likely not," Snape said. "He's careful. If he wanted to be alone with her––"   
  
"She wasn't happy to see him," Dumbledore interjected.   
  
"No, she wasn't, was she?" Snape murmured. "I wonder just what that's about."   
  
A light tapping on the window drew his attention towards the glass. Hovering just beyond it was an unfamiliar owl, a letter clasped in its beak. Snape stood to open the window for the bird, which flew in to land lightly upon his desk.   
  
"Now what is this?" Snape muttered as he took the letter. It was addressed to him, but he did not recognize the handwriting. Scowling, he opened the envelope and unfolded the parchment to read.  
  
  
 _Severus Snape,  
  
I have information you need concerning the Wraith. Let us meet at the Hog's Head tonight at eleven and I will share it with you._  
  
  
The letter was unsigned. "Do you suppose it's some kind of trap?" Snape asked Dumbledore after reading the words aloud.   
  
"I don't know," Dumbledore said with a slight frown. "What would be the purpose of it, if it were?"   
  
"I've no idea," Snape said honestly, scowling at the letter.   
  
"Will you go?" Phineas asked. "I'll admit, the sheer curiosity would have me there."   
  
Snape had to agree that he was curious to what information the unknown writer could possibly have. He tore off a bit of blank paper from the bottom of the letter and swiftly wrote,   
  
 _Agreed._


	5. The Wraith's Gift

_"Man does not live by words alone, despite the fact that sometimes he has to eat them."_  
  
  
  
  
The Hog's Head bar was nearly deserted when Snape arrived shortly before eleven. He kept the hood of his cloak up, concealing his face with the shadows. Too many of his fellow Death Eaters patronized the establishment and he did not want any word of this meeting to get back to the Dark Lord.   
  
Pausing in the doorway, he quickly glanced over those few gathered in the barroom. His eyes fell upon a cloaked figure sitting at the bar. The figure lifted a hand, beckoning Snape over.   
  
"You're prompt," said a soft and familiar voice.   
  
Snape sucked in a sharp breath when he recognized the deceptively youthful face beneath the cloak. With a wry smile, knowing that he had been recognized, Janesch turned back to the bartender.   
  
"A private room, if you would, Aberforth. I've some…private business to discuss with my associate here," he said with a wink.   
  
With a grunt as his only reply, the barkeep came around the bar with a ring of keys in his hand. He led the two up the rickety stairs to the first room at the top. He unlocked the door and stepped back from it, going back downstairs without a single glance at them. They went inside, Janesch closing the door behind them and swiftly locking it.   
  
"Does the Wraith know that you're back in the country?" Snape demanded immediately.   
  
"She does not," Janesch replied, an edge to his voice that Snape had not often heard. "Nor will you be telling her about this meeting unless absolutely necessary." The vampire drew back the hood to reveal the serious line of his young face. "She doesn't need to be hurt with this."   
  
Snape studied him as he too lowered the hood of his cloak. Again, he was struck by the youthfulness of the vampire's face. It was interesting to think that the 'boy' that stood before him was half a century older than Dumbledore.   
  
"I've heard through the grapevine that the Wraith is in your care at Hogwarts," Janesch said lightly.   
  
"Who told you that?"   
  
"You don't need to know," the vampire replied.   
  
"What is it that you want?" Snape asked him, "Why are you here?"   
  
"I am here because you saved Wraith's life," Janesch said simply, "and I believe that unless I share the truth with you then it will have been for nothing."   
  
Snape stared at him, hard. Finally, he reached for one of the two chairs in the room and took a seat. "The truth of what?" he asked.   
  
"The truth of the Wraith," Janesch said, sitting as well, "At least, the truth that I have seen." He sighed and ran a hand through the tumble of his dark hair. "…You and I…we look at her and we see two entirely different creatures."   
  
"Is that so?" Snape's tone was bone dry.   
  
"It is and don't snap at  _me_  for it," Janesch said with the hint of a smile, "The Wraith is a complicated girl, divided at the very essence of her soul. You've only seen what she's  _wanted_  you to see, and I've seen little more than that. She's very careful, especially around you and her Lord."   
  
"What do you mean when you say 'divided'?" Snape demanded.   
  
"Exactly what I said," Janesch said. "Wraith is divided by her loyalty to her Lord and by her own conscience."   
  
"You claim she had a conscience?" Snape said, mainly trying to bait the vampire.   
  
It worked. Janesch's face darkened. "Yes, that is what I claim," he snapped, "and it is the  _Dark Lord_  who suffocates it within her."   
  
"Well, you'll have a hard time proving it to me," Snape told him.   
  
Janesch bit off an impatient sigh. "The world is not black and white—and neither are her motives. She is neither black, nor white, nor even _grey_. She has no color for she has no compass! Don't you see?  _He_  is her world.  _He_  is all that she knows.  _She does not understand who she is without him_. And  _away_  from him, she will flounder."   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
"Simply that the longer she is away from him, the more she will start to doubt."   
  
"Doubt? Doubt what?"   
  
"Everything," Janesch said shortly, "Everything she is, everything she's done, and everything she knows."   
  
"You're saying that she'll doubt  _him_?" Snape asked.   
  
"She loves––and hates him––with a passion," Janesch said, "She believes that she needs him and there is, unfortunately, truth to that belief. But with time and distance, she  _will_  learn to stand on her own, and your Dark Lord will have to face the consequences of it." The vampire sat back in his chair and met Snape's eyes with a dark smile. "Do you know what she hates more than anything else in this world?"   
  
"I take it that you mean something besides her hatred of torture?"   
  
"Goes without saying," Janesch said with a shrug.   
  
"I would assume that it would be Gavin then," Snape said after a moment of thought.   
  
"Very close," Janesch said, "but wrong. More than anything else, she hates what she is; what the Dark Lord has made her into."   
  
Snape felt a stir of cold discomfort. "You expect me to simply believe that?" he said quietly.   
  
"Oh no," Janesch said, that dark smile still in place, "I knew that you would be too shrewd, too suspicious to simply take my word for it. So I've brought you something."   
  
From his pocket, Janesch drew a small clear vial.   
  
"What is that?" Snape wanted to know.   
  
"This?" Janesch said, holding it up, "This is truth."   
  
In the light cast from the fireplace, Snape was able to recognize the swirling silvery substance within the glass. Janesch set the vial upon the table's surface and pushed it towards Snape.   
  
"My memories," Janesch told him, "of the night that you saved her life and everything that I believe led up to that point."   
  
Snape cautiously reached out to take the vial. "Why are you giving me this?" he asked, "Why is it so important?"   
  
"The truth always is," Janesch said. "You saved her life, Severus, and since you've shown the inclination to it anyway, I'm charging you with _keeping_  our Wraith alive."   
  
"She may be your Wraith, but she isn't mine," Snape said sharply.   
  
"Yes, she is," Janesch argued simply, tilting his head to one side, his dark eyes alight with humor.   
  
Snape stared at him in silence, not quite comprehending. Janesch sighed, his humor fading, and he suddenly looked very tired.   
  
"That girl is breaking," he said softly, "but she isn't broken yet. You have to prevent that from happening. You protected her from me, Severus, but she must still be protected from herself. Look at the memories," he instructed as he stood, "and draw your own conclusions from them. That is all I can truly ask of you."   
  
He gave Snape one last piercing look. "Wraith isn't the only one who dislikes you, Severus Snape, but I've my own reasons for it. Don't give me another."   
  
Before Snape could respond to that, Janesch had pulled up the hood of his cloak and had disappeared into the hall.   
  
Alone in the room, Snape examined the little vial of swirling memory.  _Time to return to the castle_ , he thought.   
  
  
  
      
"Well," Snape said as he entered the Headmaster's office, " _that_  was interesting."   
  
"Severus, who was it?" Dumbledore asked.   
  
"It was the vampire," Snape replied, sitting down and taking out the vial of memories. "Vivaldi––and he had a great many things to say to me, though I'm hesitant to believe half of it."   
  
"What is that you're holding?"   
  
"His memories," Snape said, frowning at them. "He gave them to me so that I could see what he called 'the truth'."   
  
"Well?" Dumbledore said, raising a silvered brow, "you have them. Are you going to look at them?"   
  
"That was my intention," Snape said dryly, standing once more to take out Dumbledore's stone pensieve. The silver light danced over his face as he hesitated only a moment more. Taking a breath, he tipped the vial over the surface, releasing Janesch's offered memories into the pensieve. "Here's hoping I learn something of value," he muttered before taking the plunge.   
  
  
  
  
He found himself first standing in the Great Hall, surrounded once more by the Death Eaters and werewolves alike. They were gathered near the center of the room and Snape quickly moved to see the woman bound in the center of them. Katherine Talbot's eyes flashed with fire as she defied the Dark Lord by spitting in his direction. "Go to hell!" she told him. "I'll die first!"   
  
The scene was all too familiar; in fact he had already spotted himself among the crowd. So rather than watching the woman be tortured again, he turned his attention to where Janesch stood. Already, the vampire had his eyes locked upon the Wraith. Frowning, Snape followed his gaze to the girl.   
  
This time he watched as the woman's first screams cut into Wraith. It was painfully obvious how the sound  _hurt_  her. The panic in her crystal eyes grew until Katherine Talbot screamed out for death. And again, Snape watched as Wraith's head snapped away from her, and was struck by the sudden silence.   
  
Watching more closely, he saw the utter horror in the girl's eyes as she gazed down at Katherine's broken lifeless body before she quickly masked it and fled from the Hall. He waited until Janesch broke away from the crowd to follow Wraith before he did the same.   
  
He saw what Janesch had seen; the Wraith pressed against the wall, gasping for breath.   
  
"Don't breathe through your mouth," Janesch told her gently. "I know it's difficult not to, but it will only make the smell and taste of the blood stronger."   
  
Rather intrigued, Snape observed the odd conversation between the two. He was curious to see that horror briefly return to the girl's eyes when the vampire revealed he knew what she had done.   
  
"I…I didn't mean to…" Wraith's voice shook with the admission.   
  
 _So it's as I thought. It was an accident caused by her panic. Her mind broke at Katherine Talbot's screams._  
  
"Tell you what," Janesch said, "You want a token of trust? I'll tell you my little secret."   
  
Snape couldn't help but roll his eyes at the vampire's teasing tone. But at the same time, it made Wraith smile just slightly as she replied, "Alright."   
  
Janesch stepped closer to her to whisper in her ear and Snape moved closed as well so that he would hear the whisper as well. "When I go seeking a lover, dear girl," Janesch whispered almost playfully, "I seek the company of other men, not women."   
  
Both Wraith and Snape reacted with shock and not just a little disbelief. "You're serious?" Wraith asked him, eyes wide.   
  
"It's not something one generally lies about, love," Janesch told her in a serious tone marred by his wicked grin.   
  
Snape stared at the vampire's grinning face, terribly confused.  _He's…But wait… if he's not interested in women_ … Before he could finish the thought, the memory changed.   
  
  
  
  
The memories were short now and came swiftly, with only a passing glance at each setting. But Snape caught the bits of conversation between girl and vampire. Speaking with him in her bedroom at Slytherin Manor–– "––You aren't happy here, little ghost. You ought to tell him."   
  
"Janesch, I'm not happy. The  _where_  has nothing to do with it."   
  
––Sitting in the back of an old car as Janesch drove–– "I know your Dark Lord is the center of your world,  _ma chéri_ , but there is more to the world than the center."   
  
––And then he was in a small dark room with the vampire and Rafe, the alpha of the werewolves–– "This just arrived for you," the werewolf was saying as he held up a letter, "You're going to end up pissing the Dark Lord off, you know. Still chasing after his Wraith?"   
  
" _Balourd_ ," Janesch replied dryly. "I'm not chasing anyone. The girl is a friend. She needed a friend––Give it here, wolf, and none of your teasing."  
  
–– And then he was back at Slytherin Manor, but this time he was in the  _Dark Lord's_  tower and Janesch was speaking to Voldemort with Wraith nowhere in sight…and Snape was confounded to learn that it had been  _Janesch_  who had gone to Voldemort about Dominic Gavin–– "I came to you about this because you are her world. You are her god. She needs you. She needs to know that you will stand for her––if only because she belongs to you."  
  
–– "She's hungry for affection, your Wraith," the vampire told the Dark Lord simply. Snape was close enough to see the bitter ire in the back of Janesch's eyes at the words. "Be patient, Dark Lord…and she'll be anything you want her to be."   
  
––The scene shifted once more and it took Snape a moment to recognize the woods that surrounded the Manor. Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he saw not only Wraith and Janesch, but Harper as well. The fresh pain in the boy's eyes gave Snape the only clue he needed to figure out where and when he was. It had to be sometime shortly after Vaisey's duplicity was revealed.   
  
"I cannot comfort you," Wraith said softly to Harper. "I cannot be that close. I've no words to ease the pain I know you have to be feeling. I do know what it's like to be betrayed."   
  
Snape watched as Janesch comforted the lad in Wraith's place before the memory changed again.   
  
––He stood upon the stone terrace outside of the Manor. Wraith was leaning against the stone railing, gazing out at the snow covered grounds.   
  
"I hate what I am."   
  
Snape barely heard her soft whisper, but the words struck him. She  _meant_  what she said, he had no doubt.   
  
He suppressed a shiver as he watched the rest of the conversation play out. Wraith paced back and forth over the terrace, her words becoming more and more frantic. He watched as Janesch put comforting arms over the girl's thin shoulders, letting her lean back against him.   
  
"There was this moment…that I looked into Vaisey's eyes and wished to God I had never left Azkaban," Wraith told Janesch, her voice low. The silence that followed her confession was thick and almost suffocating, broken by her horrible and nearly frenzied laughter. "I'm going mad," she said breathlessly. "I must be. Oh, Janesch, I feel so  _tired_."   
  
Snape listened to her voice break at the last and watched as Janesch kept her upright when her legs gave out beneath her. He realized that this was the conversation he had caught the last part of…how much he had  _missed_ …   
  
"I feel like I'm standing on the edge of some great black void. Janesch––you'll stop me from falling, won't you… _won't you_ ….?"   
  
  
  
  
––And finally Snape found himself standing in the ballroom of Slytherin Manor, the room lit with the soft blue light of the Wraith's magic. She was spinning in place near the center of the room, eyes closed as she said, "I hate it––I hate it. I hate it. I'm still a prisoner, Janesch, still chained by  _him_. I want to be free. I want to spite him."   
  
Now close enough to hear them, their every word, Snape found himself fixated on the spot.   
  
Wraith stopped spinning abruptly, her back to the vampire. "I don't know if what I'm saying comes from how tired I am, but it's still the truth." She turned towards him and Snape stepped a touch closer to see the small object in her hand. "Are you ready for your gift?" she asked Janesch.   
  
The object in her hand was a pin. Snape watched in what could have been horror as the girl pricked the palm of her hand and offered it to the vampire, the small bead of blood dark in her hand.   
  
Janesch's eyes widened and he looked with panic in his eyes to Wraith. " _Ma chéri_ , you do not know what you're offering."   
  
"But I do," Wraith told him softly, the serenity in her eyes never changing. "I know exactly what I offer and what I'm asking of you, Janesch. I want this to stop," she continued, her voice soft but earnest, "and I cannot do it alone. Any wound I inflict upon myself will heal almost before the blood is spilt. This is the only way I can be sure…Janesch, I'm tired. Help me rest."   
  
Janesch hesitated, but even the small touch of blood called to him powerfully. He reached out slowly and took her hand in his, leaning down to kiss the palm and take the offered blood. At the first taste, Janesch was caught and helpless against the hunger. He lifted his head to meet Wraith's eyes once more. "Are you certain?" he asked her, "Wraith, there is no going back from this."   
  
Wraith simply nodded, no trace of fear or hesitation in her face. A terrible sadness filled the vampire's eyes, warring with the hunger inside him. He leaned forward to kiss Wraith softly upon her lips. It was, Snape now realized, a gesture of goodbye.   
  
As Janesch led Wraith out of the ballroom, the memory came to an end.   
  
Snape was quite suddenly back in the Headmaster's office, a cold sweat upon his brow as he processed all he had seen.   
  
"Severus, are you alright?" Dumbledore asked swiftly, seeing the horrified expression on the man's face.   
  
"Now I understand," Snape whispered, " _'How can you see so much…but understand so little?'_  That's what she asked me that night."   
  
"Severus,  _what did you see_?"   
  
"The Wraith… _God_ , Dumbledore…Vivaldi wasn't to be her lover––He was to be her  _suicide_!"


	6. Calm Despair

_"Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape all but collapsed into his chair, his eyes wide as he tried to process all that he had seen and reevaluated what he'd come to think of the Wraith. After several long and silent minutes, Snape slowly told Dumbledore everything that he had seen pass inside the pensieve in an attempt to cement it all in his mind.   
  
When he had finished, Dumbledore remained silent for a long time as well. "This changes a great deal," he said softly.   
  
"Dumbledore, this could change  _everything_ ," Snape said.   
  
He leaned forward and turned the pensieve, shifting the contents within. Slowly, a misty silver form of Wraith rose from the pensieve.  _"I cannot comfort you. I cannot be that close. I've no words to ease the pain I know you have to be feeling. I do know what it's like to be betrayed."_  Her already soft voice echoed strangely from the memory.   
  
"This is what struck me the most," Snape said softly, watching the silvery figure spin slowly in place, "More than anything else. Here is her pity and the part of her that Janesch Vivaldi claims is being suffocated by the Dark Lord. You can see in her eyes," he continued, leaning forward upon the desk. "She hasn't reached out to the Harper boy because he's useful to her. She's done so merely because she wants to, because she feels for him and his pain."   
  
"There's a decent girl buried beneath all that she's been made into," Dumbledore said slowly. Then something seemed to click in his mind. "Severus…did you say  _Janesch_  Vivaldi?"   
  
Snape frowned, his train of thought completely derailed by the tone of Dumbledore's voice. He turned to the portrait and raised an eyebrow. "That's what I said," he replied dryly.   
  
"Ah. You'd––I don't believe you'd mentioned his first name before."   
  
Snape blinked at him. "Did you  _know_  him?" he demanded incredulously.   
  
"We've met, though it was a very long time ago" Dumbledore said, looking a little bemused. "He wasn't using the name Vivaldi then, he only went by Janesch."   
  
"How well did you know him?" Snape asked, curious.   
  
"I only knew him a short time," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly. "I called him a friend though."   
  
Snape stared up at the portrait, rather certain that there was quite a story behind the amusement in Dumbledore's eyes. But he did not press the matter. Instead, he turned away, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Dumbledore, what are we going to do with this girl?" he asked. "Vivaldi asked me to keep her alive––how am I supposed to do that?"   
  
"Make amends now," Dumbledore said gently. "You've learned the truth. You know the real reason that for her grudge."   
  
"Not only because she lost Vivaldi, but because I took her death from her," Snape murmured. He sighed deeply, gazing out the window at the starry night beyond. "In all honesty, I would hate me too."   
  
  
  
  
Snape slept on the dilemma, but he slept badly. It was barely five in the morning before he gave up trying and ordered coffee from the house-elves.   
  
"Phineas," he said, drawing the former Headmaster back into his portrait. "Phineas, is she still sleeping?"   
  
"No, Headmaster," Phineas replied. "She woke only a little while ago. She's up on the parapets this morning, where I can't follow. I think she's watching the sun rise."   
  
Snape went quiet for a minute, making both Phineas and Dumbledore wonder at his thoughts. At last, he pushed away from his desk and strode to the door without a backwards glance at them.   
  
It was as Phineas had said; Wraith stood out in the open air on the parapets, the morning wind whipping her hair around her wane face. Snape hesitated in approaching her and she was deep enough in her thoughts that she had not noticed him in the doorway. As he observed her, he heard her softly speak above the wind,  
  
 _"Calm and deep peace in this wide air,  
These leaves that redden to the fall;  
And in my heart, if calm at all,  
If any calm, a calm despair."_  
  
"Tennyson," Snape said, stepping out to stand in the wind.   
  
Wraith turned her head slightly to see him and he was unsurprised by the slight scowl she favored him with. "Yes," she said softly. "Though it doesn't quite suit," she added, turning her eyes away again. "It's only summer, not yet fall."   
  
 _But how well suited is the rest of the verse?_  Snape wondered.    
  
"You know Tennyson?" she asked him skeptically.   
  
"Some," Snape replied evenly. "I read a great deal as a boy."   
  
When Wraith continued to look at him from the corner of her eye in vague disbelief, Snape sighed and then recited,  
  
 _"I sometimes hold it half a sin  
To put in words the grief I feel;  
For words, like Nature, half reveal  
And half conceal the Soul within."_  
  
Wraith's head whipped around, her eyes wide with surprise. Slowly, she recited with the ghost of a smile.  
  
 _"But, for the unquiet heart and brain,  
A use in measured language lies;  
The sad mechanic exercise,  
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain."_  
  
That faint smile remained, as did the surprise in her eyes. "You  _have_  read him," she said. "I thought you would be one of those wizards with a distain for Muggle writers."   
  
"I was not all that picky when I was a lad," Snape said, coming to stand beside her. He leaned against the stone, gazing out at the mist covered grounds. "I read to escape the world; anything would do as long as it did that."   
  
"Hm," Wraith murmured, turning her eyes back to the grounds as well. "I never managed to find a book powerful enough to do that for me in Azkaban. But it  _was_  Gavin bringing them to me––He didn't ever want me to forget where I was."   
  
"My father," Snape said, surprising himself, "made a point of disparaging my reading when I was a boy. I had to hide my books so that he would not throw them out."   
  
Wraith again glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "…And your mother?" she asked softly.   
  
"She never fought him on anything," Snape replied, his voice low.   
  
Wraith watched his eyes for a minute, intrigued despite herself. But then she shook her head and turned her gaze away. "At least you had parents," she murmured.   
  
"You say that like it was a good thing," Snape said, a touch of his old bitterness bleeding through despite his best efforts.   
  
Wraith ran her hands over the parapet, frowning. "I grew up surrounded by stone," she told him, "with only the dementors for company…and Gavin. So, go on and tell me how your childhood was worse."   
  
Snape smirked just slightly as their eyes met. "I never said that," he reminded her.   
  
For just a moment, that strange understanding between them was felt. But Wraith turned away again, the ghost of her smile fading. "What do you want, anyway?" she demanded to know.   
  
Snape sighed. "It occurred to me that the Dark Lord put you in my care," he told her. "I figured he would want me to check in on you now and then while you're here."   
  
"I think I'd prefer to be ignored," she said softly. She pushed away from the parapet and walked past him to the door.   
  
"As you wish," Snape said under his breath.    
  
  
  
  
Not knowing what else to do, Snape gave Wraith the distance she wanted from him. Over the course of a week, he avoided all contact and kept the distance between them, with Phineas and even Dumbledore keeping a watchful eye upon her.   
  
But with another storm approaching fast, the girl seemed determined to spend as much time as possible outside, despite the cold of the wind and the threatening rain and there she could not be followed by the portraits. So Snape watched from the windows as she walked along the lake's edge again and again.   
  
"Why does it feel like she's looking for something out there?" he asked one cold afternoon. He stood in a small classroom on the ground floor, his eyes following the girl.   
  
Beside the window was Dumbledore in a small painting. "She does seem drawn to it, doesn't she?" Dumbledore said, wishing he could see out the window as well. "How long has she been out there?"   
  
"A little over an hour," Snape replied. He frowned deeply, watching her.   
  
"Has he contacted you recently?"   
  
Snape shook his head, knowing that Dumbledore spoke of Voldemort. "He hasn't, not since the last meeting."   
  
"Good," Dumbledore said almost bluntly. "Perhaps we will see what Janesch predicted," he added when Snape looked at him oddly. "We've already seen that the Wraith is…less than happy with her Lord."   
  
Snape nodded silently, remembering the apprehension in her eyes when the Dark Lord had last come to Hogwarts. "She wants distance," he murmured, "not only from me."   
  
"She doesn't want him to see," Dumbledore said softly. "Nor you."   
  
"That's part of it," Snape agreed, "but I don't think it's all."   
  
As he observed her, Wraith was completely unaware of it. She had her eyes cast out over the dark water of the lake, her thoughts a twisted ramble inside her mind.   
  
She too had taken notice of the Dark Lord's absence and she could not for the life of her decide whether or not she preferred it. As much as she had evaded him in the last half year, she hadn't realized how badly she felt she needed him. She felt the need for his presence like a void inside her chest and it gnawed at her.   
  
Peaceful as Hogwarts was for her, it also provided very little to distract her from the thoughts she had avoided like the plague since the previous winter. Her thoughts drifted back up to the desk that sat untouched within her rooms and she felt a stab of frustration and not just a little fear. She thought it likely that the house-elves would have told Snape about the addition, but since he had not made mention of it to her, she had continued to ignore his presence within the castle.   
  
Thinking on Snape, Wraith found herself frowning at the lake. That…odd conversation last week still confused her. She glanced up at the castle and wondered what Snape was up to.   
  
At the window, Snape felt his spine stiffen as the girl turned her eyes towards the castle. Had she somehow sensed him? Feeling cautious, he stepped away from the window and started to make his way back up to his office instead.   
  
"Severus?" Dumbledore said when they were safe behind the closed door. "Are you alright?"   
  
Snape blinked in surprise at the question and did not reply at first. "I don't know," he said at last, closing his eyes. "I don't know what to do here, Dumbledore," he added in an undertone. "I've been struggling to keep my head above water for months now and I'm losing ground… Dumbledore, I don't know how much longer I'll be able to keep this up. I won't be useful to the Dark Lord forever."   
  
In a sudden flash of temper, he grabbed a crystal from a nearby shelf and threw it at the wall. It shattered and fell to the floor in the quick silence that followed.   
  
" _Where_  the  _Hell_  is Potter?" he demanded, knowing that Dumbledore had no more clue than he did. "What the Hell is he doing? There hasn't been any word of him for  _months_! How am I supposed to help him if I don't know what he's doing? How am I going to get that blasted sword to him when I don't know where he is?"   
  
"Severus––"   
  
"Don't placate me!" Snape shouted at him. "You know as well as I that everything went to Hell when the Dark Lord found the locket on Dolores Umbridge! The Wraith–– _His_  Wraith––has that locket now! How do you suggest that we or Potter relieve her of it? God knows where Nagini is, let alone the  _rest_  of them!"   
  
Unable to stand the pitying look in Dumbledore's eyes, Snape cursed under his breath and strode out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Riding on the wave of anger and frustration, Snape found himself outside of Flitwick's old office. Soft music drifted out from the doorway and he realized he had followed the sound of it. His temper still burning under his skin, he did not think to conceal his presence from the girl inside.   
  
At the sound of his heavy footsteps, Wraith's fingers faltered slightly over the keys. "…Severus? Is that you?" she called, her own temper flaring at the interruption.   
  
Unthinking, Snape stepped into the music room, but went no further than the doorway. He saw the quicksilver temper in the girl's eyes that matched his own and it was like salt on a wound.   
  
"Somehow it doesn't seem right that the same hands that kill so well for the Dark Lord can create such music."   
  
He saw the shock and pain flash through her broken eyes, but did not acknowledge it as he turned and left as suddenly as he had come.   
  
For a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, Wraith stared at the empty space where he had been. Then, moving slowly she turned back to the piano––and closed the lid on the keys.  
  
 _"In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,_  
 _Like coarsest clothes against the cold;_  
 _But that large grief which these enfold_  
 _Is given in outline and no more. "_


	7. Old Wounds

_"The worst loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape sought refuge once more in one of the few rooms that did not have portraits within it. He sat in silence until it began to get dark outside. His temper slowly abated and as it did he was able to examine it.   
  
He had not realized how tightly he had reigned in his bitterness over the course of the last year. He did not think that he would care what other people, the other teachers and students of Hogwarts especially, thought about him. But in some corner of his heart, he realized he did.   
  
It was hard; harder than he would have expected. Had the seed of bitterness come from that final day before the school closed its doors? That deep dark look McGonagall and the others had afforded him…or had it begun when McGonagall was imprisoned below Slytherin Manor? He was so bloody  _tired_  of it all.   
  
Unbidden came the image of Wraith's eyes and the quick flash of pain he'd caused. Cursing under his breath, Snape left the room and returned to the office. Once inside, he was confronted, not by Dumbledore as he'd expected, but by Phineas.   
  
"That was uncalled for," the former Slytherin Headmaster said, his tone impossibly cold. "More than that, it was  _cruel_."   
  
"I don't need the lecture, Phineas," Snape said to him, his own voice frigid.   
  
"It seems you do," Phineas argued, his eyes narrowed to slits, "She left the music room right after you did––she's hidden herself away in her room, curled in her bed! You may have very well taken one of her few comforts away from her!"   
  
"She'll get over it," Snape said, though he felt he was trying to convince himself more than Phineas.   
  
"Severus," Dumbledore's voice was soft.   
  
" _I know_!" Snape hissed, leaning back against the door with a hand over his eyes. "I know," he repeated calmly, "Just shut up, both of you. I really don't need to hear it."   
  
  
  
  
Three days passed and Phineas almost vindictively reported to Snape each day that Wraith had not returned to the music room. She remained, for the most part, in her own rooms. In the early evening of the third day, Snape felt his patience with Phineas snap.   
  
"She's at that desk of hers," the portrait reported tonelessly, "pouring over a little notebook. She hasn't left the room all day––"   
  
Without a word, Snape stood up from his desk and strode out of the office, grabbing up his cloak as he went.   
  
Phineas stopped in mid-sentence, affronted by Snape's sudden departure. " _Well_ ," he huffed. But Dumbledore was smiling, just slightly.   
  
  
  
  
The streets of Hogsmeade were quite deserted when Snape ventured down. There were a handful of cloaked Death Eaters patrolling the streets, but there seemed to be no need for them.   
  
Snape stopped halfway down the main road, glancing up at the shop sign above his head:  _Blackthorn Books, est. 1997; Alexis Jeffries, Proprietor._    
  
Taking a bracing breath, Snape stepped inside the warmly lit shop and was greeted by the scent of books and cinnamon. The little space was filled with bookshelves and all were crammed with tomes of various sizes and ages. The light was soft and strangely comforting.  
  
Behind the counter in the back stood a slim young woman of twenty or thereabouts. She looked terribly tired for a girl so young. She wore simple wire-framed glasses and had her light brown hair shorn nearly to her scalp. She looked up as he approached and her dark hazel eyes were sharp behind the glasses. As she recognized him, those eyes widened in surprise. "P-Professor Snape?"   
  
"Miss Jeffries," he replied evenly. Suspicion and not just a little fear were clear upon her face, but Snape ignored it. "Have you heard from your business partner as of late?" he asked.   
  
Alexis's eyes narrowed dangerously. Her voice was sharp as a whip as she replied, "As I've told your  _associates_ , I haven't heard from Edwin Rowle for months. Now, if that's all––"   
  
"I'm after a book," Snape said, cutting her off.   
  
Alexis blinked in surprise. "…What kind of book?" she asked, casually slipping into the mode of business, though a touch of suspicion remained.  
  
Snape sighed deeply and looked up at the ceiling rather than meet her eyes. "…A music book."   
  
The tiniest smile peeked through Alexis's suspicion. "I can help you with that."      
  
  
  
  
Later that evening, when the house-elf brought Wraith a tray with her supper and tea upon it, he was also burdened with a package wrapped in plain brown paper. She regarded it with great suspicion, but her curiosity overcame her.   
  
Her supper lay forgotten as she reached for the parcel, noticing the small card attached to the surface of it. Her head tilted to one side, she unfolded the card first.   
  
 _Wraith, please accept this with my apologies. S. Snape._  
  
Frowning, her suspicion rising once more, she tore away the paper to see just what Snape wanted her to accept. A strange feeling encircled her heart as she gazed down at what lay in her lap.   
  
It was a music book.   
  
 _Chopin_ , she realized. She'd never had a book of his music before…   
  
Up in the landscape that hung over the girl's bed, Phineas surprised himself by smiling. Watching Wraith's thin hand caress the faded cover of the music book, he shook his head in something akin to amazement. "Brilliant," he whispered to himself.   
  
  
  
  
"Absolutely brilliant of you," he told Snape as he returned to his portrait. "The girl has already gone down to the music room to play."   
  
Snape smiled just slightly despite himself.   
  
Dumbledore looked down at him with interest. "Will you go down and speak with her?"   
  
"…No," Snape said after a moment's consideration. "No, I don't think so. Things seem to run…smoother when I keep my distance."   
  
He sat back with a sigh. "It's…it's enough that she's gone back. Let her have her music," he said softly, his eyes gazing at the star-strewn sky beyond the window.    
  
  
  
  
 _She was dreaming. Though there was nothing to distinguish it beyond the darkness, she recognized the black plane that lay before her. Beneath her skin, she could see her power glowing––bright and beautiful…and somehow terrible. Even as she became mesmerized by the sight of her own shimmering power, she remembered that she had dreamed this once before…and so she concluded that she must have been dreaming again.  
  
…Would the pain come again, she wondered? Would she watch those bright lines of light dim and turn black again?   
  
Somewhere at the edge of her subconscious, she thought she heard music…Was it a violin playing? No, she thought as she listened more intently. No, it was something different…something older…   
  
She cried out as she felt a deep and slicing pain just below her collarbone. Gasping, she tried to raise a hand to press against her heart––but she couldn't move. Her arms were locked at her sides, her feet rooted to the ground, though there was no ground to stand upon. Panic flitting through her like a caged bird, she looked down… and screamed.   
  
Cords of dark power were wrapped around her arms and legs, binding her in place. The cords pulsed with their own light, much like the power that still glowed beneath her skin, but their light was blood red and sickly green. She felt the bile in the back of her throat, staring down at them. The dark light pulsed again and seemed to tighten.   
  
Suddenly, her hand was lifted up, as if someone had just taken hold of it. She gasped for breath, trying to calm the fear that clouded her, and stared down at her hand. For a moment, she was distracted from her fear by the sensation that someone was _holding _her hand in theirs. She closed her eyes and focused upon it, closing her hand around it.  
  
Help, she tried to whisper––or had she just thought it? Help, she repeated, her voice shaking, Please help.   
  
Little bird, little bird, why do you cry?   
  
A strangled cry escaped her lips as a sharp and fleeting pain lanced through the palm of her hand. But even as the pain faded, a strange sensation replaced it. It felt almost as though something was drawing blood from her palm, an odd sort of…pull.   
  
Desperately seeking some sort of solid ground, she turned all of her focus upon the feeling. She watched as the light beneath the skin of her hand faded and turned black, though she felt no pain yet. Then the blackness crept its way up her arm and she felt the dull burn of it.   
  
But it wasn't until it reached her heart that she screamed with the fire of it. When it touched upon it, she felt her heart constrict, its beat stuttering within her chest. For a moment, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she all but welcomed the promise of oblivion.   
  
…And then strong arms wrapped around her shoulders from behind her, holding her and sheltering her from the pain. Her eyes flittered open once more when she realized the pain was gone.   
  
He can't hurt you, whispered a voice subtly familiar, He can't reach you here.   
  
But he hurts me every day, she tried to argue. She was able to lift her hand and pressed it to her heart. She still felt the cold chain that was wrapped around the very core of her. He still has me.   
  
I'm here, the voice told her.   
  
You'll only leave me again.    
  
She didn't even understand what she was saying. She couldn't bring the face of her savior to her mind. She couldn't see his face or even recall his name.   
  
The hands took her wrists and lifted her hands up so that she could see the power that had returned to shine under her skin.   
  
Little bird, little bird, thy wings doth shine bright.   
  
She felt the brush of lips at her ear and the voice whispered,   
  
Wake up.      
_  
  
  
  
With a shuddering gasp, she did.   
  
For just a moment, Wraith stared at the darkness around her and feared that she was still dreaming. But her hands gripped her blanket and the simply sensation of touch told her where she was; safe in her bed.   
  
She sat up quickly and felt her head swim in protest of the sudden movement. She pressed her hand to her forehead and was shocked to find her skin unusually warm to the touch. She lowered her hand and saw beads of sweat come away.   
  
Trembling a little, Wraith moved to the edge of her bed and cautiously stood. She stumbled over to the window seat and pulled open the curtains. She felt the flush of relief as the pale moonlight spilled into the room, chasing the darkness back.   
  
Staring out at the glass-like reflection of the lake's surface, she felt the urge to run. Hiking the long skirt of her nightgown, Wraith turned away from the window and followed the urge that took her from her rooms.   
  
  
  
  
"Headmaster–– _Headmaster_!"   
  
With a jerk, Snape woke at the insistent voice. Recognizing it, he scowled at the face within the painting in his rooms. "Phineas…it's four in the morning," he said slowly, his impatience putting a cold frost upon his words. "This had better be good."   
  
"The girl––the Wraith––she was dreaming…I'd wager it was a nightmare."   
  
Snape sat up straighter, his scowl deepening.  _"I want you to keep a close eye on my Wraith, Severus––Keep a watch for her nightmares, especially if they seem…severe."_  "Why a nightmare?" he demanded of the portrait, "Did she seem disturbed?"   
  
"She cried out, screamed more than once," Phineas said, his voice shaking slightly. "I would have come to you before, but…I didn't think I should leave her alone with it. She woke just a few minutes ago––Headmaster, she's run outside. I don't know why."   
  
"I think I do," Snape murmured as he rose and pulled on a robe.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith stood at the edge of the lake, the cold only a vague thought at the back of her mind. She breathed deep of the bitter wind and felt a little more of herself return. She lifted her eyes and realized that the moon was low in the sky. Morning couldn't be far off––With a ghost of a smile, she thought that perhaps she would remain out there until the dawn came.   
  
Wraith laughed softly at her own foolishness and realized that the cold was finally getting to her. With something of a disappointed sigh, she turned from the lake and started back up to the castle.   
  
Moving silently, she slipped back inside and crossed the entrance hall. She had only just reached the staircase when she heard someone's quick footsteps coming down towards her. Lifting her head, she frowned to see Snape hurrying down to meet her.   
  
"Lady Wraith," he said, his steps slowing. "Are you alright?"   
  
She blinked at him. "I'm fine," she told him. "What are you doing down here?" she asked, perplexed.   
  
Snape cleared his throat as he approached a step at a time. "One of the house-elves saw you leave your room," he explained and had Wraith been more awake, she might have taken note of the way he didn't meet her eyes.   
  
"I couldn't sleep," Wraith said slowly, her own eyes drifting away from him. "I wanted some fresh air, that's all."   
  
She started to step past him, but he held up his arm, blocking her path.   
  
"You had a nightmare."   
  
When Wraith's eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to speak, he held up his other hand to stop her.   
  
"Don't bother to lie," he said, cutting her off, "I can see it in your face."   
  
Wraith shut her mouth, frowning at him. "What's your point?" she demanded, "I've had nightmares before." She pushed his arm down and started up the stairs past him.   
  
"The Dark Lord expected this."   
  
Wraith stopped, her spine stiffening. "…Of course he did," she murmured. Even Snape could hear the edge of bitterness in the words. Scowling, Wraith turned slightly, her eyes clashing with Snape's. "What did he tell you?" she demanded softly.   
  
Snape considered her. "He asked me––ordered me, rather––to watch for signs of a nightmare, particularly severe ones." He hesitated and then added, "I believe it might have something to do with why he wanted you out of the Manor."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes and sighed. "Perhaps it would have been worse if I'd been there instead of here," she speculated.  _'He can't reach you here.'_  She shook her head, trying to chase the voice away. "I suppose you'll have to tell him about this," she said to Snape, her tone accusing.   
  
For a moment, Snape did not reply. "…If you'd prefer that I didn't…I won't."   
  
Wraith turned, facing him now, her eyes slightly narrowed. "You can lie to him?" she demanded.   
  
 _Boggy ground_. Snape shrugged, a small gesture. "If he does not press," he said cautiously.   
  
Slowly, Wraith moved down a step, closer to him. "…The music book," she began, carefully considering her words, "the  _Chopin_ …You didn't have to do that."   
  
Snape shifted uncomfortably. "Apologies have never been my forte," he confessed mildly. "That book was, in essence, me taking the easy way out."   
  
Wraith smirked slightly. "I suppose a bribe  _is_  easier than saying 'I'm sorry'."   
  
"Quite," Snape agreed.   
  
"Still," Wraith said softly, "…thank you."  She tilted her head to one side, still staring at him. The force of her strange eyes was making Snape squirm slightly. "I've never heard you snap like that at anyone," Wraith said, "let alone me."   
  
"I…was having a bad day," he said, "You were a handy target."   
  
"I know the feeling," Wraith said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked down briefly before bringing her eyes back to his. "You won't tell him?"   
  
"I won't."   
  
Wraith nodded shortly and then turned, climbing the stairs once more.


	8. Warning

_"Because he has never forgiven himself any fault, he can forgive no one else's."_  
  
  
  
  
It was early afternoon nearly three weeks later that the Dark Lord returned to Hogwarts. As he approached the front steps, he kept the link between himself and his Wraith tightly closed, thinking to arrive without her notice.   
  
But of course the downside to his tactic, as he realized when he reached the steps, was that while his Wraith would not know where he was, _he_  was not able to sense where she was either.   
  
Gazing up at the castle, its dark stone drenched in the weak sunlight that had managed to shine through the clouds, he had the strangest feeling that his Wraith was  _not_  within its walls. Frowning just slightly, Voldemort glanced over to the shadowed forest. With a sigh, he opened the link between them and was rather unsurprised when he felt her presence calling him to the Forbidden Forest. He then turned away from the castle and started into the forest instead.   
  
She was not far, he thought as he made his way over the uneven ground. Indeed, it was not long before he came to the small clearing where she was. The clearing was covered in white flowers the Dark Lord belatedly recognized as heather. It was interesting to see spots of red heather amidst the white here and there, rather like drops of blood upon pale skin.   
  
His Wraith lay near the edge of the flowers, her eyes closed and one pale hand caressing the flowers in an idle motion. For a moment, Voldemort simply studied her there amidst the heather. Her dress was a deep striking red, the vibrant color making her seem all the more pale.  
  
He walked around the edge of the clearing until he had reached her. Kneeling beside her, he wondered if she truly slept, for she had not acknowledged his presence at all. But when he reached out towards her, her eyes snapped open and locked with his.   
  
There was a flash of…something…in those blue eyes, the Dark Lord thought, but it was gone before he could read it. A moment later, Wraith smiled slightly. "My Lord," she said, sitting up and facing him.   
  
Voldemort tilted his head to one side, studying her. He reached out again and plucked a small bit of heather from her dark hair. "What are you doing out here, my Wraith?"   
  
She shrugged, tilting her head to match his. "I wanted air," she said simply. She turned slightly and touched a hand to the flowers. She broke off the top of one of the plants and held it out to the Dark Lord. "It's calm here," she said softly, her eyes upon the flower, "So I stayed."   
  
Voldemort stared at her, a little perplexed, but he took the plant from her hand and twisted it in his own. "In an odd mood, aren't you, my pet?" he said, a little accusing.   
  
"You've no idea," Wraith murmured.   
  
"Hm," Voldemort dropped the flower as he stood and offered a hand to her. "Come," he said firmly.   
  
Wraith took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet, but she gazed out over the clearing a moment more before she followed him out of the woods.   
  
When they reached the castle steps, Snape was waiting for them at the doors. He bowed to the Dark Lord and stepped back so that Voldemort and Wraith could pass him. Once they had entered the castle, he closed the doors behind him and waited for the Dark Lord's word.  
  
"Severus," Voldemort said in greeting, turning back to the man. "I trust things have been calm?"   
  
"Quite, my Lord," Snape said with a short nod. With a small glance at Wraith, he continued, "Your Wraith has a quiet presence to her. I've hardly noticed her here."   
  
"Oh?" Voldemort looked to Wraith.   
  
She shrugged, her eyes drifting to Snape. "We give each other distance," she said, "It's better that way."   
  
"I see," the Dark Lord said. He gave Snape a sharp and piercing look, but saw nothing in Snape's eyes that rang false. "A truce between you then?"   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith said before Snape could answer.   
  
Voldemort turned his attention back to Wraith and gave her a small smile. "In any case, there is something I must discuss with you alone, my Wraith."   
  
"As you wish, my Lord," she replied evenly. She gestured towards the stairs, "I'll show you to my rooms," she said, "We can speak there."   
  
When the Dark Lord motioned for her to lead, she stepped away from him and started up the winding stairs. She threw one last glance at Snape over her shoulder and he did not misread the apprehension in her eyes. But he wondered why she had revealed it to him.   
  
Within her rooms, Voldemort took a seat at one end of the settee that sat before the fireplace. His eyes followed his Wraith as she stood beside the window, her face shadowed as the clouds covered the sun once more.   
  
"What did you need to talk to me about?" she asked him.   
  
It was a moment before he answered her. "You seem to be improved, pet," he said lightly, "Your time here seems to have been well spent."   
  
"I suppose, my Lord," she said slowly. "I've been careful," she added, turning to him, "I've not used my magic but a little since you brought me here."   
  
"It's been nearly two months since I did," he reminded her, "And I am aware that you still need more time, pet, but I'm afraid that I must call upon you for a special task."   
  
Wraith stared at him, her eyes perfectly blank, before she looked back to the window.   
  
"What do you want me to do?" she asked softly.    
  
  
  
  
Snape paced within his office, apprehension prickling beneath his skin like barbs. "What are they talking about?" he asked in a mutter, more to himself than the portraits.   
  
"Phineas is down there listening," Dumbledore reminded him. "We'll know shortly, Severus."   
  
Snape all but snarled at him and Dumbledore fell silent, though he had the slightest of amused smiles upon his face. Snape continued to pace restlessly, though in the back of his mind he wondered  _why_  he felt so troubled.   
  
What he and Wraith had told the Dark Lord was the absolute truth. They'd barely seen each other in the weeks that had passed since the night of her disturbing dream. He kept his distance and she did not seek him out. The only exception he made was to occasionally go down to listen to her play. But even then, he did not enter the music room and if she knew he was there, she did not acknowledge it.   
  
He  _had_  noticed that the girl had finally lost some of the gauntness of her appearance and considered it a good sign, but Phineas had reported that the girl's sleep was no better and there were days that she did not even leave her bed. Snape was rather afraid that Vivaldi's predictions were coming true. Phineas watched for signs, but saw nothing to indicate that the girl would make another attempt at suicide. But still Snape wondered.   
  
Gritting his teeth, Snape forced himself to stop pacing and looked to Dumbledore. "She's afraid of something," he said. "I saw it in her eyes––she  _showed_  it to me––but I don't know what it is that frightens her."   
  
"She had the same fear the last time he came to see her," Dumbledore said. "Severus, it is only speculation at best, but perhaps she is afraid that he's going to take her away from here."   
  
Snape frowned, his eyes drifting to the fireplace. "She hates what he's made her," he remembered, his voice dark, "Of course she'd dread having to return to her place as Lady Death." He shook his head. "It's too soon," he said. "She has not yet recovered. He won't take her yet."  
  
A half-hour passed slowly by and Snape resumed his pacing for lack of anything else to do. When Phineas stepped into his portrait, Snape practically leapt at him.   
  
"Well?" he demanded.  
  
Phineas took a moment to clear his throat. "She's escorting him out," he said slowly.  
  
"Phineas, what did he want of her?"  
  
Again, it took Phineas a moment to answer. "It's bad," he said shortly. "It's very bad, Headmaster. You should go down and meet her before she disappears back into her room."   
  
Snape scowled at the portrait, but did not press for further information. Instead, he turned and went out the door, all but slamming it behind him.   
  
He hurried down the corridors until he had almost reached the staircase that would take him down to the entrance hall. But before he'd reached them, he saw her walking down the hall towards him. Her eyes were downcast and strangely empty. She did not seem to notice him at all. Slowing his step, Snape felt another stir of discomfort.   
  
She was walking slowly as if in a daze and she stumbled just slightly. As he watched, she moved over to the wall at a corner and fell against it, her thin hands clutching at the corner to hold herself up. She hung her head and her face was hidden behind the curtain of her dark hair.   
  
Snape approached carefully and kept his distance as he spoke softly, "Wraith? Wraith, what did he want?"   
  
She took a shuddering breath. "It's Vaisey," she said, not lifting her head. "He's finally infiltrated the last of the rebellion. He's close, but not quite close enough. Vincent Talbot is within our Lord's reach, but…He needs me to finish the job. He's sending me after Talbot…" A shaky breath escaped her before she could continue, "…and the Talbot boy."   
  
Snape inhaled sharply. "Talbot's son?"  
  
"It's my fault," Wraith said.  
  
"What do you mean?" Snape asked, not following her.  
  
"The Talbot boy; it's my fault," she said again. She lifted her head slightly, but kept her face away from Snape. " _I_  told the Dark Lord not to underestimate the danger the boy could be. I brought up Potter, I  _reminded_  him of what Potter had done as a boy younger than Talbot is now. Oh,  _god_ …"  
  
Snape stepped close and carefully laid his hand over hers upon the wall. He felt her hand stiffen beneath his, but then she relaxed it. She turned her head a little more, making doubly sure that he could not see her face. Snape was silent, for he could think of nothing to say to comfort her. Even then he felt the slick of discomfort at being exposed to her misery.   
  
"I…" he began, faltered, and then tried again, "Wraith, you're not well."  
  
"I'm well enough," she retorted, pulling her hand away from his.   
  
"I could speak with him," Snape said, almost desperately, "perhaps––"  
  
"He is our Lord," Wraith said dispiritedly, "and we must follow his orders. I don't have a choice," she said softly, pushing away from the wall. "I never have."   
  
Not knowing what else to do, Snape allowed her to walk away.


	9. Familiar Ground

_"To die is nothing; but it is terrible not to live."_  
  
  
  
  
For the remainder of that day and throughout the following, Wraith remained locked within her room. Snape let her be until Phineas returned to tell him that the girl had barred the house-elves from her room.   
  
According to the former Headmaster, the girl remained in her room with the curtains drawn and no fire to warm it. She alternated between lying listlessly in her bed and pacing relentlessly across the floor. Phineas did not believe that she had actually slept at all.   
  
He also thought that she was murmuring something to herself constantly for he could see her lips moving, but he couldn't make out what it was she was saying. Snape didn't quite know how to process all of this, but he ordered Phineas to return to continue watching. But Phineas returned almost immediately.   
  
"She's at that desk of hers now, Headmaster," he said, speaking quickly. "She…Headmaster, she's acting rather… fixated. I can't get a proper look at what she's doing! Her back is to the painting."   
  
Snape thought for a long moment. "Go back there," he said firmly. "Return if she leaves her room or if you believe her likely to…do anything drastic."   
  
Once Phineas had gone again, Snape sat down, his face twisted into a thoughtful frown.   
  
"Severus, what are you thinking?"   
  
"I'm wondering if I should find some excuse to bring the Harper boy up to the castle. He's stationed in Hogsmeade now––She's been a comfort to him in the past, albeit a distant one. Perhaps he could be a comfort to her as well."   
  
"He would be the one who brought her the music box?"   
  
"Yes, that's the one," Snape replied. Something in Dumbledore's voice made Snape turn. "What is it?"   
  
"Oh, I was just remembering how you accused Harper of being infatuated with Wraith. However, I think that  _she_  was correct in saying he was not."   
  
"How do you mean? And what has that to do with anything?"   
  
"He's not infatuated with Wraith, Severus," Dumbledore said, "He's  _devoted_  to her. Vol––"   
  
"The Taboo, Dumbledore!" Snape cut him off quickly.   
  
Dumbledore winced and continued. " _He_  may have Harper's fear, but it is Wraith who has his loyalty."   
  
Something about the way that Dumbledore said had Snape's mind whirling. There was a period of pensive silence before he spoke again. "I think––There is some part of me that believes that she won't remain the Dark Lord's puppet. What happens if…if when does leave him, she's not the only one?"   
  
"It would be quite a blow to Tom if his followers were to become hers."   
  
"Not all of them  _would_  follow," Snape said slowly. "But Harper…and perhaps the Malfoys as well…"   
  
"Severus, keep in mind that we must first convince  _her_  to leave," Dumbledore reminded him.   
  
"But it is possible," Snape countered. "We know now that it's possible. That's something we didn't have before." He sighed and rubbed hand over his eyes. "The Dark Lord is returning for her tomorrow night," he said. "That is what Phineas heard. Dumbledore, she doesn't want to go. She is desperately set against having to kill a child."  
  
"Not just the child, Severus."   
  
Snape scowled slightly. "I know."  
  
"Headmaster!" Phineas shouted, stumbling back into his portrait at great speed. His panic had Snape on his feet immediately. "Headmaster, something's happened! The girl––she slammed her hands down on the desk and the fireplace lit itself. She threw the notebook and that tattered old book into the fire, started opening the drawers of the desk and throwing bottle after bottle into the fire as well. I don't know what they were, but some of them changed the color of the fire when they burned. She's run from her rooms just now! I think she's heading towards the Astronomy Tower!"   
  
Snape felt his blood run cold. "Oh, my god…I'm a  _fool_!" He started for the door, shouting back. "The poison––the hellebore––it was for _herself_!"   
  
"Severus!" Dumbledore called out, but it was too late for the man was already halfway down the stairs.   
  
Snape ran as fast as his feet could carry him, for once cursing the fact that one could not Apparate within the castle walls.  _Don't let me be too late_ , he prayed as he ran.  _Those poisons…they've failed her. If she reaches that tower before I can stop her…_  
  
His heart pounded as he came within sight of the door that led up to the door. It was already open––but he saw the flash of her heel disappear up the winding stairs and it gave him the slightest cutting edge of hope.   
  
" _Wraith_!" he shouted after her, even knowing it would not stop her. But if he could just get her to hesitate…   
  
He hurried up the stairs after her, with her just always out of his reach. "Wraith,  _stop_!" Desperation gave strength and speed to him that he hadn't had before.   
  
As Wraith burst out of the door and sped across the tower towards the ramparts, Snape came up behind her.   
  
Wraith gathered speed, preparing to leap––just as Snape wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back.   
  
She  _screamed_ ––rage and despair stealing the breath from her lungs. She fought against Snape's hold, still screaming. Snape kept one arm around her shoulders, the other around her waist, struggling to keep his hold of her.   
  
Using every bit of his strength, he pulled them both down to the ground, his knees colliding sharply with the stone as Wraith continued to struggle against him.   
  
" _Why?!_ " she screamed the word at him, scratching at the arms that held her back, " _Why do you always stop me?!_ "   
  
The sky above them opened up and poured rain down upon them. Lightning streaked across the dark sky, closely followed by the rumble of thunder.   
  
"Stop it," Snape hissed at her. " _Stop it_. I won't let you!"   
  
She shrieked at him in reply and her nails dug into his arms, drawing blood. Snape barely felt the pain. He put his lips close to her ear and whispered. "Don't think I haven't been  _exactly_  where you are now."   
  
 _"DON'T…gone…dead…"  
  
"Is this remorse, Severus?"_   
  
"Because I have," he told her, "I know."   
  
The fight seemed to drain away from her with the rain. She stopped struggling and instead clung. "I want to die," she moaned, shaking with the sobs that raked her throat like claws.   
  
 _"I wish…I wish I were dead…"_  
  
"And what use would that be to anyone?" Snape asked her, echoing words he had so long ago heard. He released the arm around her waist and instead placed his hand at her head, cradling it.   
  
"Why did you  _stop_  me?" she begged to know, "Why do you  _always_  stop me?"   
  
"I despise waste," he told her, "and that's all your death would be; a waste. I won't let you do it. I can't."   
  
Wraith sobbed, her misery overtaking her. She turned to him and collapsed into his arms, sobbing into his shoulder as she clung to him. Snape held her, not knowing what else to do. He felt her shaking in his arms and thought that the storm above them was nothing to the storm inside the girl.   
  
  
  
  
Almost an hour later, the two of them sat within her room in silence. A house-elf wearing a tea-towel with the Hogwarts' insignia upon it handed the both of them towels, while another poured tea.   
  
Wraith took her towel with a murmured thank you and pressed it against her face, wiping away the last trace of rain and tears. When she finally looked to Snape, he was able to see the questions burning in her eyes. He gestured to the pair of house-elves. "Leave us," he told them firmly.   
  
They bowed quickly and were gone.   
  
Alone with him again, Wraith stood and crossed to where he sat, taking the chair in front of him. "Up on the tower…you told me that you had been where I was," she said softly. "Why were you there?"   
  
"What does it matter?" Snape asked in return.   
  
"Because I need to understand why you helped me," she told him, "…and because I need to know if I can trust you. Tell me."   
  
Snape closed his eyes and did not say anything at first. Finally, he stood up and crossed to the windows. "…When I was a boy, I had a very close friend. And when we were still young, she was killed. I knew that she was in danger––but I could not stop it. I could not protect her."   
  
Wraith lowered her eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry," she said softly.   
  
"Not nearly so much as I was––am," he corrected, turning back to her. "I failed her. That's how I saw it. And when word reached me of her death…"   
  
"You make me feel selfish," Wraith said, lifting her eyes to his. Closing her eyes, she breathed deep. "How did you know?" she asked him, "what I was going to try?"   
  
Here, Snape felt unsure of how to answer. Moving back to the small table where she sat, he drew something out of his pocket. He unfolded the letter and laid it upon the table before her. "A month ago I received this."   
  
Wraith leaned forward and pulled the letter closer so she could read. " _'I have information you need concerning the Wraith'_ ," she quoted in a whisper. "This…this is Janesch's handwriting," she realized, running her hand over the words. "He came back…You met with him?"   
  
"I did," Snape told her. "And he told me the truth of what had passed between you. He was your first attempt at suicide, wasn't he?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith murmured through numb lips.   
  
"Wraith," Snape said, sitting across from her again, "He told me the truth so that I would better understand you, to put an end to my…misconceptions. He asked me to watch you, to prevent you from making another attempt." He felt something akin to panic when he realized there were tears in her eyes again. "The hellebore––and the rest of the poisons––You've been testing them on yourself, have you not?"   
  
"Figured that out, did you?" she asked with the slightest of smirks.   
  
"Not until tonight," he admitted. "It's what you've been doing all these months when the Dark Lord sent you hunting, isn't it?"   
  
She nodded, looking away again.   
  
"One of my misconceptions," he said, drawing her eyes back. "When the Dark Lord told me that you had volunteered yourself to hunt down his foes, I had thought that you had fully accepted your role."   
  
Wraith stared at him hard for a moment before she replied. "The more useful I am to him, the less he sees. He has no reason to look closely at me then."   
  
"And it gave you ample opportunity to spend time away from the Manor," Snape said.   
  
"Oh, yes," Wraith agreed, nodding again.   
  
"And so you gathered poisons."   
  
"And potions," she said. "I tried them first, thought they might be stronger. But whatever makes me immune to your magic also made them useless. So I turned to poisons soon after."   
  
"But your healing abilities…"   
  
"Yes, they simply burned off the poisons before the damage could be done."   
  
"That's why you knew that the hellebore wouldn't harm you," Snape realized. "You had already tested it."   
  
"And I was stupid enough to have left the bottle out," she said, smiling slightly again. But her smile quickly wilted and she leaned forward in her chair, putting her head just above her knees. "Oh, god," she whispered, burying her face in her hands.   
  
Snape let her cry for a few minutes before he spoke again. "He doesn't know."   
  
"No," Wraith said, quickly sitting up again. "He can't know, Snape. He  _can't_. He would lock me away just to keep me alive. He'd put me back in Azkaban if it came to that and I would become nothing more than a power source to him." She reached out and grabbed his hand in a painful grip. "You won't tell him? Please tell me that you won't tell him what I've been trying!"   
  
Snape looked down at her hand and turned his so that he held it in return. "I won't tell him," he said slowly. "But this time there is a price."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes and sighed. "What do you want?" she asked him.   
  
"Your word," he said simply, "Your word that you will not try again."   
  
Wraith stared at him and her eyes filled once more. But she did not let the tears fall. "…You ask a great deal," she told him shakily.   
  
"I know," he said.   
  
"…Alright," she said after another long moment. "You have my word…I will not try again." She released his hand as she stood up, walking over to the fireplace. She could still see bits of melted glass upon the burning logs. "Thank you…Severus," she said, looking back to him. "Thank you for keeping my secrets."   
  
Snape stood as well and crossed to her. "I owed you," he said.  
  
Wraith smiled again and though it was weak, it was real. Then she glanced down and frowned at the trace of blood she saw on the palm of her hand. Moving quickly, she took Snape's hand in hers and turned it over, seeing the thin lines of blood that stained his palm.   
  
"I hurt you," she whispered, pushing his sleeve up to see the scratches. "I'm sorry."  
  
"It's nothing," he said.   
  
Wraith ran her hand gently over his arm and Snape felt his wounds grow hot and then cold as they began to fade. She repeated the motion over his other arm.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said again. Snape shook his head, ignoring the apology. "So what happens now?" she asked him weakly.   
  
"The Dark Lord returns tomorrow," Snape said.   
  
"I don't know if I can handle this," Wraith said softly.   
  
"You won't," he told her. " _I_  will."


	10. Forest of Secrets

_"My only love sprung from my only hate; too early unknown and known too late."_  
  
  
  
  
The sun had only just disappeared beyond the horizon when the Dark Lord returned once more to Hogwarts. In anticipation of Voldemort's arrival, Snape was waiting in the Great Hall, poised at the window to see the moment that the Dark Lord appeared at the gates. Moving quickly, Snape stepped out into the entrance hall and threw open the great doors of the castle as Voldemort reached the steps.   
  
Voldemort looked slightly surprised. "Severus."   
  
"My Lord," Snape replied with a bow of his head. He stepped back to allow the Dark Lord to enter the castle.   
  
Voldemort caught a flash of something in the man's black eyes before he passed. "Something on your mind, Severus?" he asked, his own eyes narrowed.   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Snape replied without hesitation as he fell into step beside him. "Your Wraith told me of the situation with Vaisey and the close proximity of the Talbots. She also spoke of your plans for her tonight."   
  
"My Wraith has been quite talkative," Voldemort commented lightly, but his eyes flashed dangerously.   
  
"I have concerns, my Lord."   
  
At that, Voldemort stopped in his tracks and turned back to the man. "Concerns?"   
  
"About your Wraith's health," Snape said, unflinching.   
  
Voldemort paused, his gaze darting towards the stairs. "Go on," he said.   
  
"My Lord, she is not yet well enough to hunt," Snape said. "She has only just begun to truly recover her strength. I fear if you send her out now, she may burn herself out trying to please you."   
  
"She said nothing to me of this," Voldemort said.   
  
"Has she ever?" Snape asked bluntly. "My Lord, part of the reason she is here now is that she  _didn't_  tell you how weak she was making herself. She denies you nothing." He hesitated slightly before he continued, "My Lord, the resistance lost its heart with Davies and Tzadik. All that remains are scraps. The only threat Talbot could possibly be is as a martyr. He'll gain no further ground––People are too afraid of you and your Lady Death. You would risk a great deal by sending her out now."   
  
The Dark Lord was silent, his frustration momentarily clear in his serpentine eyes. Without another word, he turned and continued up the stairs. Snape watched him go and wondered if he had done enough.   
  
Voldemort reached his Wraith's rooms a few minutes later and stepped inside without knocking. He saw her sitting in the window seat, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. The Dark Lord stood in the doorway, frowning at her a moment before he shut the door with an audible click.   
  
Wraith's eyes snapped open as she turned her head towards him. She smiled, but not before Voldemort had caught the weariness in her eyes. "My Lord," she said as she stood. "Is it time?"   
  
He shook his head, crossing over to her. "You deny me nothing," he murmured, still frowning.   
  
Wraith blinked at him, confused. "Of course not," she said.   
  
"Severus stopped me downstairs," he told her. "He had…concerns."   
  
A brief scowl flashed across her face. "Severus should mind his own business," she muttered.   
  
"But he is right, isn't he?" Voldemort said with a trace of bitterness. "You are not well enough for me to send you out."   
  
Wraith kept her face carefully free of expression as she answered. "You give the orders, I follow them," she said slowly. "That's how this works."   
  
"You would be of no use to me if you kill yourself attempting to bring the Talbots down!" Voldemort snapped.   
  
Wraith fell silent and turned away, gazing out the window instead of facing her Lord.   
  
"The Talbots will have to wait," Voldemort said. "Perhaps Vaisey will be able to get closer and the matter will resolve itself without you. But you are going nowhere as of yet. You are not ready."   
  
"Because Snape says so?" she asked resentfully.   
  
"Because  _I_  say so," Voldemort told her, taking hold of her chin and turning her to face him. "It is a great pity, pet, but I'll not risk my greatest weapon on something insignificant."   
  
Wraith slowly lifted her eyes to his. "As you wish, my Lord," she said, resignedly.   
  
Voldemort smirked and leaned down slightly, his mouth brushing over hers. Wraith tilted her head up and deepened what would have been a light kiss. Voldemort laughed darkly as he pulled back. "No, you deny me nothing," he repeated, releasing her. "I must return to the Manor for now," he told her. "But I'll return soon, pet."   
  
Wraith said nothing and did not move until he had left the room. She moved back to the window seat and waited until she saw him leave the castle. In a flash, she was on her feet and out the room.   
  
She rushed down towards the entrance hall, her steps slowing when she saw Snape coming up the stairs towards her. He seemed to sense her and lifted his head. Wraith continued down until she was only a step above him.   
  
She hesitated only a moment before she took his face in her hands and pressed her lips gently to his forehead. "Thank you," she whispered before she turned and ran back up the stairs.   
  
Embarrassed, befuddled, and yet oddly pleased, Snape continued up the stairs.      
  
  
  
  
It was several days before the Dark Lord came back to the castle, but Wraith did not spend the time waiting for him. Instead, she seemed to make a point of spending as much of her time as possible outside.   
  
The weather had taken a turn for true summer, the sunlight bright and clear over the grounds of Hogwarts. Snape would often look out the window of his tower and see her lying at the edge of the lake, soaking in the sun. More often than not, she would take a book along with her and spend hours in the sunlight.   
  
But despite it, she slept no better at night and neither he nor the portraits had seen her smile even once. Snape knew, grateful as she was for his help, that the girl felt he had chained her with the promise. He'd chained her to the life she could not bear and it would be some time before she'd really forgive him.   
  
It was early in the evening when Voldemort arrived and he did not arrive alone.   
  
Wraith felt his presence at the back of her mind, but for several long minutes, she remained where she was at the lake's edge. She stared down at the book in her lap, but her eyes did not take in the words. It wasn't until she heard footsteps behind her that she lifted her head. She frowned as she turned slightly to see who it was, for it was not her Lord.   
  
The frown vanished when she saw Harper. She did not smile, but it was a close thing. Besides, he was smiling enough for the both of them.   
  
"My Lady," Harper said with a lavish bow.   
  
Wraith shook her head and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She glanced past him to the castle. "Am I needed?" she asked gently.   
  
Harper followed her gaze and then shook his head. "No, we're waiting for a few others before the Dark Lord begins to meeting. I know it's something big though."   
  
"Sit down," Wraith suggested, gesturing to the grass beside her.   
  
Harper seemed delighted to do so. Sitting down, he glanced at the book in her lap. " _A History of Magic_?" He sounded rather incredulous. "I didn't even read that when I was  _required_  too. Don't ask me how I got through the class," he added with a grin.   
  
"I like it," Wraith said simply.   
  
"I don't think there been a student of Hogwarts yet that didn't think that book was deadly boring," Harper said. "Well, maybe one or two."   
  
"Just shows that you wizards take too much for granted," Wraith told him with the slightest smirk.   
  
Harper smiled back and ducked his head. "You wanna hear something funny?" he said hesitantly, not bringing his head back up.   
  
"What?" she asked, tilting her head to better see his face.   
  
"Snape told me I ought to come out here."   
  
Wraith straightened and turned quickly to the castle. She was unsurprised to see Snape standing at the front doors. He saw her look and smirked at her, tipping an imaginary hat in her direction before he turned and disappeared into the castle.   
  
"Berk," Wraith muttered, though she was smiling just a little.   
  
Harper lifted his head and grinned at her. "He was there at the door to greet the Dark Lord and us, and I saw you sitting out here. You looked sad and I guess he noticed too. So he said I ought to visit you." He cocked his head. "I thought you hated him. Are you friends now?"   
  
"Not exactly," Wraith said slowly. "It's more that we have an understanding."   
  
"So why were you sad?" Harper asked her then. When she didn't reply, he reached out to lay his hand over hers. "Milady?"   
  
"I can't tell you," Wraith told him sadly. "The Dark Lord could too easily pluck it from your mind." She shook her head and got to her feet. "I'm sorry, Antony." She took the skirts of her dress in hand and ran.   
  
She ran not for the castle, but for the forest where she would not be followed. Let her Lord call for her when he wanted her presence, she thought almost bitterly.   
  
She went deeper into the forest than she'd gone before and soon the bright sunlight was all but blocked by the trees. She walked through the dappled sunlight, moving carefully over the uneven ground of the wood.  _The forest is dangerous_ , she thought as she went her way, _that's what the book said. I wonder if it will be any danger to me._  
  
She glanced over her shoulder, back the way she'd come, and felt a stir of guilt.  _I have to run from him. It isn't his fault that our Lord can read minds. But I can't tell him anything without worrying that the Dark Lord will see it_. She stopped where she stood and leaned back against a great tree.  _What sort of twist of fate brought me to a place where I can trust Snape more than I can Harper_? She frowned deeply as she thought.  _Of course, that begs the question; why exactly do I trust Snape_? He'd kept her secrets so far, but for how long would he continue to do so? Was he simply gaining her trust so he could later break her?   
  
 _Janesch came to see him_ , she remembered. Janesch had trusted Snape to watch over her. Did the vampire see something she did not?   
  
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone walking over a branch. Wraith scowled and then realized that the sound had  _not_ come from the direction of the castle, but from deeper in the forest. She stiffened and pushed away from the tree, eyes scanning the shadows cast by the tall trees. "Who's there?" she called.   
  
There was a moment of silence. And then she watched as a cloaked figure came around a large oak tree across the way from her. Wraith braced herself, but the figure immediately reached out and lowered his hood.   
  
Wraith saw his face and felt the fight drain from her. She fell back against the tree with a sigh.   
  
"It's you," Edwin said, staring at her. "So you  _are_  alive."   
  
"So far," she replied, staring back at him. Then she shook her head and pushed away from the tree again, turning away from him. "I didn't see you," she said quickly, briefly pressing her hands to her eyes. "You didn't see me."   
  
She started to walk away, but Edwin caught up with her and took her by the wrist. "Oh, yes I did," he said, smiling slightly as she turned back to him. "Is it odd…that I'm actually glad to see you?" he asked.   
  
"It's very odd," she replied at once. "You ought to be locked up in a padded room somewhere." But he saw the smile flash through her eyes. "What are you  _doing_  out here?" she demanded, pulling her hand free.   
  
"Can you keep a secret?" he asked her with a crooked grin.   
  
"I'm good at that," she replied archly.   
  
He pointed through the trees. "I'm living in Hogsmeade, right under those Death Eaters' noses. When they do their raids, I hide out here where no one looks." While Wraith shook her head in amazement, he said, "Your turn. What're you doing out here?"   
  
She gestured vaguely behind her. "I'm in living in Hogwarts," she told him, "Recuperating."   
  
Edwin's slight smile faded. "You were hurt?"   
  
"Yes," she replied simply.   
  
Edwin lifted a hand to touch her face, but she quickly stepped back.   
  
"I shouldn't be out here," she said swiftly, shaking her head, "not with you. The Dark Lord is up at the castle right now."   
  
Edwin dropped his hand and also took a step back. "Then you ought to head back," he said, "Wouldn't want to get you in trouble again."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes a moment and then turned away.   
  
"Wraith?" Edwin called, making her turn her head. "If I were to come back here, would I see you again?"   
  
Wraith stared at him for a long moment before she spoke.   
  
"You're going to get me killed," she told him before she turned away again.   
  
"Is that a 'yes'?" Edwin called after her. She didn't reply, but Edwin grinned like a fool, for he had her answer.


	11. Less Than Enemies

_"Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily––they stand no chance against his powers!"_  
  
  
  
  
When Wraith entered the castle, it was terrible still. She stood there a moment in the entrance hall and realized that the Dark Lord had closed the link between them. The fact that he had done so sparked her temper. She stalked up the winding staircase and through the halls until she ran into Snape coming out of his office.   
  
"Where is everyone?" she asked him.   
  
"Here and there," Snape replied dryly. Wraith sensed that he was slightly annoyed as she was. "We're waiting on the Lestranges. They're a good distance away, but they should be here within the hour."   
  
"Has the Dark Lord released Bellatrix then?" Wraith asked.   
  
"A couple of days ago, it seems," Snape said.   
  
"Hm," Wraith hummed. "Something's happened," she said softly, "something big, something bad." She lifted her eyes to Snape. "Where is he?"   
  
Snape knew of whom she spoke, though she did not say. "He had the house-elves bring him a drink in the drawing room on the sixth floor. It's likely that he's still there."   
  
Without another word to him, Wraith turned her back on Snape and made her way down to the sixth floor.   
  
It didn't take her long to find the drawing room he'd spoken of. The room was dominated by the long ornate table in the center and the grand fireplace at the far end. Voldemort sat at the head of the table, staring pensively into the fire. Wraith stood in the doorway, watching him while he was still unaware of her presence. Then she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.   
  
When Voldemort's head snapped around to see her, she locked the door before stepping forward. "Where have you been?" he demanded of her.   
  
"Outside," she replied evenly as she walked along the table towards him. "Did you need me for something?" she asked in turn, raising a brow.   
  
Voldemort scowled, looking back to the fire. "No," he told her shortly.   
  
Wraith reached the head of the table, still studying him. She glanced at the table and the short glass that rested upon it. Not recognizing the golden liquid within, she reached over and picked it up before the Dark Lord could object. She took one small sip and nearly choked.   
  
With half a laugh, she put the glass back down. "Firewhiskey?" she said incredulously. When his only reply was to scowl deeper, she stood between his chair and the table. "What's wrong?" she demanded.   
  
"Stop trying to read me,  _pet_ ," Voldemort said irritably.   
  
"But you're making it so easy at the moment," Wraith argued pertly.   
  
Voldemort turned his chair towards the table and glared at her a moment before his eyes drifted to the door. "Why did you lock the door?" he asked, turning sharp eyes to her.   
  
"You're sulking," she told him accusingly. "I could tell from the doorway. So I locked the door," she said, loosely crossing her arms, "in case you'd need me after all."   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "I  _need_  nothing and no one," he said slowly and clearly.   
  
"Want me then," Wraith amended easily.   
  
Something in his eyes changed and he sat back in his chair. He gestured just slightly to her. With a small smile, Wraith climbed into his chair, straddling his lap. She touched cool hands to his face and leaned down to press her lips to his.   
  
The kiss was slow, almost torturously, and deep. Voldemort sighed, his hands curling around her waist. Wraith kept the pace slow, a hum of pleasure escaping her when Voldemort put a hand at the back of her neck to twist into her hair.   
  
Up in the portrait that hung above the fireplace, Dumbledore felt a stir of great discomfort. He did not leave, he didn't dare, but he did turn his face away.   
  
"Feeling nurturing, aren't you, pet?" Voldemort murmured against her still sun-warmed skin. He could feel the cold beneath the warm and it intrigued him.   
  
Wraith kept her hands around his neck and tilted her head to the side as he nipped at her neck. "But see?" she murmured, "You're already in a better mood."   
  
Voldemort made a noise of amusement, turning his attention back to her lips. He all but breathed her in, biting easily at her lips each time a kiss bled into another. It had been months since he had taken advantage of her willingness to please him. In the back of his mind he thought it a pity that he didn't have the time to finish what they always began.   
  
Wraith on the other hand felt a soft sort of pleasure knowing she had even the slightest power to change her Lord's mood. But even with that pleasure, she felt cold in the very center of her heart.  _Even this close, you don't see it, do you? I could look you dead in the eye and you wouldn't know what I've tried, what I've done. Because it would never occur to you._  
  
As he ran a hand down her back, Voldemort rested his head in the crook of her neck with another sigh.   
  
Wraith's eyes drifted idly towards the windows. She could just see the edge of the forest through them and the sight of the trees brought Edwin's face unbidden to her mind's eye.   
  
"I'm about to ruin your mood again though," she said, leaning back and twisting to grab the glass on the table.   
  
Voldemort held onto her waist as she offered the whiskey to him and he gave her a curious look.   
  
"It's Potter, isn't it?" she asked, taking a sip from the glass when he did not take it.   
  
Voldemort stiffened, his hands gripping her tightly.   
  
Up in the painting, Dumbledore turned his attention back to them sharply.   
  
"I can't think of anything else that could get under your skin this way," Wraith continued, "saving me, of course," she added with a smirk.   
  
Voldemort took the glass from her hand with a scowl and downed the rest of the drink. "You do have a tendency to irritate me, my Wraith," he agreed, his face twisted in annoyance.   
  
"You didn't answer me," she reminded him, leaning back to set the glass back on the table.   
  
"Yes," Voldemort said shortly, "It's Potter. I'll only explain it once, pet, when everyone is here."   
  
"Fair enough," she replied.   
  
She moved to stand, but Voldemort dug his hands into her sides, keeping her in place. She raised an eyebrow, a flash of temper sparking in her crystal eyes. Voldemort took hold of her chin.   
  
"I didn't tell you that you could leave," he said quietly, his own temper bright.   
  
"My apologies," Wraith murmured dryly.   
  
But he made no move to draw her back. He ran a hand down her bare arm, could all but feel her skin grow colder beneath his hand.   
  
"So you've released Bellatrix?" Wraith asked, slipping her hands around his neck again.   
  
"I have," Voldemort said, "Her husband plead her case a few days ago. She's nearly six months pregnant now, all the more chance something could go wrong. He begged me to release her so that he could tend to her and his unborn child."   
  
"Do you suppose she's learned her lesson?"   
  
"I'd say it's unlikely that she'll ever act that rashly again."   
  
Wraith made a soft noise of disbelief. "Does she know what she's having?" she asked, curious.   
  
"A son," Voldemort replied.   
  
"To carry on the Lestrange name," Wraith murmured, her voice dry. "Rodolphus must be so proud."   
  
Voldemort tilted his head to one side. "What are you not saying, pet?" he asked her.   
  
"Honestly?" she asked, a hint of challenge in her tone.   
  
"Honestly," Voldemort prompted.   
  
Wraith licked her lips and glanced away before she answered. "I feel sorry for that child," she said frankly.   
  
"Truly?" Voldemort said, intrigued. "Why is that?"   
  
"Because his mother is insane," Wraith replied, "and far more concerned with pleasing you than raising a child."  She tilted her head to one side with a Cheshire smile. "She'd give a great deal to be curled up on your lap like this," she said, curving a hand along his neck.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Bella  _is_  married," he reminded her.   
  
Wraith threw her head back and laughed delightedly. "Bella would leave Rodolphus in an instant if you but crooked your finger," she told him with a wicked grin.   
  
Voldemort closed his eyes and shook his head, but he smirked just slightly.   
  
"So, tell me honestly," Wraith said, still smiling, "have you never…with her?"   
  
"With Bellatrix?" Voldemort said, incredulous, "No. No, I haven't."   
  
"That's why she tried to kill me, you know," Wraith said, "Why she wants to kill me still. She's terribly jealous," she murmured, her lips hovering over his.   
  
They both glanced at the door as someone knocked discreetly. Wraith raised a brow at her Lord and he allowed her to stand without complaint. She went to the door and unlocked it before standing back and leaning against the table. "Severus."   
  
Snape opened the door and stepped inside. "My Lady," he said, nodding to her as he glanced down the table at the Dark Lord. "My Lord, the Lestranges have arrived. Shall I gather everyone here?"   
  
"Yes," Voldemort said.   
  
Snape bowed slightly and left again.   
  
Wraith felt a flutter of uneasiness, thinking about facing the gathering of Death Eaters. She turned towards Voldemort. "My Lord, I've had a thought."   
  
"And what was that thought?" he asked.   
  
"That perhaps I should not be here," she said. "I've recovered enough that my weakness doesn't show much. They'll see that…and ask questions."   
  
"You think of discretion?" Voldemort said, standing and walking around the table. He looked thoughtful as he reached her. "You don't want to be here," he accused.   
  
"Not particularly," she replied dryly.   
  
"I thought you wanted to know about Potter," Voldemort said.   
  
Wraith shrugged. "It's not as if I can do anything to help you with him at the moment," she said simply. "You could fill me later––or Snape can if you can't stay," she added softly.   
  
Voldemort considered her for a long moment. "Go," he said at last. "You don't need to stay."   
  
"Thank you, my Lord," she said with honest gratitude.     
  
  
  
  
As the Death Eaters gathered, Wraith retreated to the small room on the ground floor where she had now and again found Snape brooding. She sat at the window, seeing nothing but the forest beyond. She ran her hand idly over the Dark Mark upon her arm, unconscious that she was doing so.   
  
Time passed and the sky outside darkened, but barely realized it. So lost in thought, she didn't even notice when someone else entered the room.   
  
"Wraith."   
  
The girl started, turning quickly. She flushed slightly in embarrassment when she saw Snape waiting patiently behind her. From the tone of his voice and the expression on his face, she thought he must have called her name more than once before she'd heard.   
  
"Severus," she said, standing, "Have they gone?"   
  
"They have."   
  
She hesitated, "…And the Dark Lord?"   
  
"Him as well," Snape told her gently. "You weren't at the meeting," he said when she remained silent. "Why?"   
  
"I couldn't face them," Wraith murmured, collapsing into her chair again. "I didn't want to. Not yet. He said that I didn't have to stay, so I didn't."   
  
Snape considered her. "Understandably," he said after a moment.   
  
"So what's happened?" she asked, "What's happened with Potter?"   
  
"There was an attack on one of our bases in Diagon Alley, an attempt to regain some ground. Potter led the attack."   
  
Wraith's eyes widened. "After months of being in hiding, suddenly he's leading the charge?" she asked, incredulous. "They didn't––?"   
  
Snape shook his head. "They were beaten back," he assured her. "No casualties on either side, though there were a number of serious injuries. The attack isn't the problem."   
  
"It's the fact that it was  _Potter_  who led it," Wraith said. "He's a symbol. I understand that much."   
  
"Unfortunately, he's a very powerful symbol," Snape said. "This could be an immeasurable score of trouble in the making."   
  
"Is it petty and selfish of me to be relieved I don't have to play a part in this?" Wraith asked him.   
  
"Perhaps," Snape said with a slight smirk. "But I, for one, don't blame you for it."   
  
Wraith took a breath, glancing briefly out the window again. "So, how's Bella?" she asked in a falsely sweet voice.   
  
"Looking particularly ragged," Snape replied dryly. "She looked almost as bad as  _you_  did when we brought you here." He watched as her eyes drifted once more back towards the window. "Something on your mind?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.   
  
Her head snapped back around. "No," she said, too quickly. "No," she repeated. "I'm just––tired, I suppose."   
  
 _Liar, liar_ , Snape thought, intrigued by her unusual evasiveness.   
  
"You sent Harper after me," Wraith accused.   
  
"Your point?"   
  
"You confuse me," she said softly, turning the full force of her eyes on him. "You always do."   
  
"The feeling, I assure you, is mutual," he told her. "I saw that something had to be done, so I did it."   
  
"It was a kind thought," Wraith said.   
  
"And I am not often kind," Snape said.   
  
"I suppose it is hard to find level ground between us. We're bound to confuse one another." She smiled just slightly. "I think we've time enough to find that ground now. I was almost disappointed when we met, you know."   
  
"Were you?" Snape asked, remembering that odd look in her eyes that night, "Why?"   
  
"I was surrounded only by people who were afraid of me," she said, "You were my equal, Severus Snape. Perhaps I'd thought to find a friend in you, or at least an ally."   
  
Snape stared down at her, slightly perplexed. Finally, he took a chair and sat down as well. "You were disappointed in what you found instead?"   
  
"You weren't afraid of me," Wraith conceded with a nod, "but you didn't like me either."   
  
"And we've had this conversation before," Snape reminded her.   
  
"I think I finally have my answer now," Wraith said. "It isn't that I hold all this power, young as I may be. It's the fact that my power is entirely in the Dark Lord's hands.  _That_  is what disturbs you, isn't it? My connection to him."   
  
Snape blinked at her, frowning slightly. "Our Lord was already quite powerful before he brought you out of Azkaban," he said slowly, carefully, "You have the ability to increase that power ten-fold."   
  
"But why should that bother you?"   
  
"Because history has shown what happens to great lords when they become lost in their own power."   
  
"…You think that having my power is dangerous to him?" she asked quietly.   
  
"I think that it  _could_  be," he corrected.   
  
"And you  _could_  be right," she accepted softly. She turned her head away. "If it's any conciliation…my connection to him disturbs  _me_ sometimes too."   
  
"I see that," Snape said gently.   
  
She smiled a little, turning back. "Do you suppose we're friends now?" she asked rather impishly.   
  
"Less than enemies, I'd say," Snape replied dryly.   
  
Wraith's smiled widened as she tilted her head to one side. "May I ask you a question?"   
  
"If you must."   
  
"Do you play chess?"


	12. Heart

_"Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape blinked at her once more. "I'm sorry?"   
  
"Do you play chess?" she asked again.   
  
"On occasion," he replied, only a hint of his surprise showing through.   
  
"How about a game?" she asked.   
  
Snape hesitated and then shrugged. "Why not?"   
  
Wraith smiled at the weariness of his tone and snapped her fingers. A chess board appeared on one of the small tables in the room. They moved to the table and Wraith took up a white and black pawn, hiding them behind her back. "Pick a hand," she told Snape.   
  
"Right," Snape said, nodding to it.   
  
Wraith opened her palm to reveal the black pawn. "Looks like I go first," she said, with a hint of mischief to her smile. She placed the pawns back in place and they began to play.   
  
After several minutes of play had gone by, Snape called for the house-elves and asked that tea be brought to them. They continued to play, and during Wraith's turn she took a long minute to examine all of the possibilities before her. While she thought, a house-elf arrived with a tea tray and offered a cup to each of them. Snape took his without comment, but Wraith glanced at the elf with a slight smile and softly thanked him. As the house-elf left again, Snape lifted his eyes from the board to look at Wraith quizzically.   
  
"You've something of a rare attitude towards house-elves," he told her.   
  
"I've noticed," Wraith replied, moving her knight. "Your move," she prompted when Snape continued to look at her. It wasn't until he had made his move and she was contemplating her next choice when she spoke again. "It's all well and good that the elves enjoy serving us, but that doesn't mean they have to be treated like slaves. I don't like slavery," she confessed simply, her eyes upon the board as she moved her queen. "It reminds me of cages…and I cannot abide cages."   
  
"You've a similar dislike of torture," Snape said rather cautiously.   
  
"What's your point?" she asked as he took his move.   
  
"Just that it is an odd thing, for a follower of the Dark Lord, to dislike the concepts of slavery and torture."   
  
"Can you say that you do not?" Wraith asked him, raising an eyebrow. When Snape did not reply, she smirked. "Perhaps you and I are destined to be our Lord's temperament." She moved a piece across the board, her eyes still on him. "Checkmate."   
  
Snape blinked and looked down disbelievingly at the board. "Who taught you to play?" he asked, slightly taken back.   
  
"Janesch," she said softly. "He offered to teach me to distract me from…darker thoughts." She smiled, but it was small. "He told me that he had a rather unconventional way of playing…but against conventionality itself, what better opponent?" When he looked back to her, her smile widened. "Rematch?"   
  
"Goes without saying," he replied dryly.   
  
Wraith laughed. "I'd think you'd have learned by now not to underestimate me," she said as they moved their pieces back into place.   
  
"I'll not make the same mistake twice," Snape told her. " _I_  will take white this time," he added, turning the board around.   
  
Wraith laughed again, the sound was so rare and unfamiliar that Snape found it odd to hear.   
  
"What are you reading now?" he asked her as he made his first move.   
  
" _A History of Magic_ ," she replied, looking over the board. "Harper laughed at it, said he didn't even read it when he was supposed to."   
  
"And how are you finding it?"   
  
"Dry," Wraith admitted, moving a pawn, "But informative. There's so much I don't know. I'd never realized until I started reading the books here." She watched as Snape chose to bring out one of his knights. "I was reading a book about Hogwarts earlier. It was  _fascinating_."   
  
"Hogwarts has a rather unique history," Snape agreed.   
  
"I'd almost forgotten that Slytherin was one of the founders," Wraith said idly. "Strange that I could find no peace in what used to be his home––and I've never been more at peace than I am here at his school."   
  
"It isn't just his school," Snape reminded her.   
  
"I suppose that's true," Wraith said. "It  _does_  seem to make a difference."   
  
They played in near silence after that, each intently focused upon the game. Wraith had only ever played with Janesch and it was interesting for her to try a new opponent. Snape seemed rather determined not to lose a second time.   
  
After a while, each of them took more and more time in deciding upon their moves, the game increasingly more complicated the longer they played. They were more or less evenly matched as far as what pieces they still had on the board, though Snape was up by a rook.   
  
Night had fallen outside, but Snape had idly lit the various candles around the room with a flick of his wand. Other than that, they took no notice of the passing time.   
  
"Wraith," Snape after she had been staring at the board for several minutes without moving, "We may have to call this one a draw."   
  
"I'm not done yet," she argued in a murmur.   
  
"Wraith."   
  
Something in his voice had her looking up. "What?"   
  
Snape hesitated, broaching upon a difficult subject. "Wraith, I'd like to ask you a question," he said, "One that you've no doubt heard before and have grown sick of."   
  
Fairly certain that she knew exactly what the question was she met his gaze across the board. "…Ask."   
  
Still Snape hesitated. "Wraith…are you the Dark Lord's lover?"   
  
For a long moment, she said nothing, her eyes falling down to the table. Finally, she looked up again.   
  
"No."   
  
Snape let out a breath, but she wasn't finished.   
  
"But to be perfectly honest, I have to say not yet." Unable to sit any longer, Wraith stood and crossed back to the window. "He makes no secret of the fact that he intends me to be."   
  
Snape watched her, the way she shifted uncomfortably and the way the words seemed to pull themselves from her. "Is that what you want?" he asked her, surprising himself.   
  
"I don't know what I want," Wraith murmured. "But I know that I won't deny him. He'd listen," she said, glancing back, "He would let me say no. He's done so before. But he knows as well as I that I won't say no again."   
  
" _Why_?" Snape asked of her, standing. He felt slightly ill. "Why would you allow it?"   
  
" _Why_  are you asking?" Wraith demanded, turning her back on him.   
  
"You are barely of age," Snape reminded her, crossing to her, "A child. This entire situation does not sit well with me."   
  
"And I thought I was the only one with the odd sense of honor," Wraith said with a bitter smile. She looked up at him and the trace of bitterness seemed to fade slightly. "I owe him more than I could ever repay," she said softly. "If I am what he wants, then he can have me."   
  
"I suppose…that it is your choice," Snape said, frowning out the window.   
  
"I can trust you, can't I?" Wraith asked him, though it wasn't really a question. "There's more to it than I've said," she admitted when he remained silent. "There's power in it," she told him. "It's true that I give him power over me––but I've also power over him––and he doesn't even realize that he gives it to me." She smiled darkly as she gazed out the window. "Now how many people can say that?"   
  
Without looking at Snape, she turned and walked back to the table. Snape watched as she reached out and touched a fingertip to the black king, toppling it and signaling surrender. "I give up," she said lightly. "But I'll a rematch another time."   
  
"As you wish," Snape said easily.   
  
"I'm for bed," Wraith told him, "Goodnight, Severus."   
  
"Goodnight," he murmured as she left him.   
  
Snape waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps before he lifted his wand and doused the candles. He then made his way up to the office slowly, his mind whirling rapidly as he went.   
  
"Severus, where have you been?" Dumbledore asked when he stepped through the door.   
  
"Playing chess," Snape replied dryly.   
  
Dumbledore frowned slightly, as if he wasn't quite sure of Snape's mood. "Severus, there is something serious we must discuss––"   
  
"Does it concern Potter or Wraith?" Snape asked, cutting him off neatly.   
  
Dumbledore blinked in surprised and then smiled slightly. "You've learned something."   
  
"Something small perhaps," Snape told him. "There's a painting in that drawing room," he said, seeming to change the subject, " _You_  saw something."   
  
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "If they are not lovers, then they are not far from it."   
  
"They're not yet," Snape said simply.   
  
"And how do you know?" Phineas asked curiously.   
  
"I asked," Snape said, "She answered."   
  
"While you were playing chess?" Phineas asked drawlingly, "An odd subject, isn't it?"   
  
Snape silenced the portrait with a look. He sat down behind the desk, his mind still whirling. "We've something of an understanding, her and I," he said slowly, "It's strange…but she's confided in me, trusts me to keep her secrets."   
  
"And secrets she has aplenty," Phineas said with a sly grin.   
  
"Don't we all?" Snape replied dryly, his eyes drifting to the gleaming glass case that held the Sword of Gryffindor.    
  
  
  
  
The next day the sun rose, the sky clear and bright.   
  
Wraith woke with a sense of uncertainty, though she could not recall just way. She lay in her bed, her mind playing over the previous night and she felt herself frown. She wondered at just how much Snape knew of her, from Janesch and from her own confessions. He did not know all, she remembered, her mind drifting back to the forest. And he would never know all. She would not trust him that much.   
  
With a soft sigh, Wraith crawled out of bed and walked over to the window, looking over the grounds and the pale sunlight that canvassed it. She pressed a hand to her heart, feeling her own pulse steady beneath her skin. She had been so desperate to end that heartbeat; was she still? Could she die not knowing so much about herself? Could she…?   
  
With a soft sigh, she forced herself to turn away from the window.   
  
Would he be there?  
  
  
  
  
The forest was all but silent as Wraith made her way through the trees. She paused now and then beneath the tress to simply gaze skyward and wonder at the height that the forest grew. It was a forest far older than the one that grew around the grounds of Slytherin Manor and carried so much more history. She could almost feel it.   
  
She could hear the soft tones of birdsong in the canopy above her and wondered if only she and those birds were awake in the early hours of the morning. But as she reached the grove of trees she had wandered to the day before, she found him there.   
  
Edwin was sitting with his back rested against the rough bark of one of the great trees, an open book in his lap. As she stepped carefully towards him, however, she saw that his eyes were closed in sleep, his breathing soft and deep.   
  
For a few minutes, she simply looked at him. The dappled sunlight fell across his face like a mask and glinted off the edge of the wire-framed glasses perched upon his nose. Seeing them, Wraith realized that she was smiling, though she wasn't quite sure why. There was such a peace around him. She was reluctant to break it.   
  
Moving in near silence, she knelt and sat against a tree directly across from him. As she settled back, she was pleased to see his eyes flutter behind the glasses and fall upon her.   
  
Edwin smiled rather sleepily at her. "You came," he murmured, blinking his eyes to clear the sleep from them.   
  
"I did," Wraith said with a slight nod. "I didn't think you were such an early riser though."   
  
"Not usually," Edwin admitted, stretching before he remembered that there was a book in his lap. He caught it before it fell and hurriedly marked his place before closing it and setting it aside. Looking to Wraith again, he tilted his head to the side. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked her softly.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith replied honestly. "You wear glasses?"   
  
"Usually," he said. "But they can hinder me a bit when I'm on the run." He shrugged casually. "I suppose I felt I'd be safe out here this morning."   
  
"How long have you been out here?" Wraith asked.   
  
He glanced at his watch and then blinked at it. "About a half an hour," he said with another shrug. "Did you just get here?"   
  
"I watched you sleep for a few minutes," she admitted. "You looked so peaceful that I didn't want to wake you." She shifted slightly, getting comfortable. "So, I'm here. Now what?"   
  
Edwin laughed lightly and shook his head. "Hell if I know," he said, "I really wasn't sure if you'd come. I suppose now we talk."   
  
"But what do we talk about?" she demanded of him. "What could we?" Her eyes drifted to the book by his side. "What were you reading?" she asked, her curiosity clear as the sunlight that surrounded them.   
  
Edwin picked up the thin volume and offered it to her. "Book of poems," he told her, "By Yeats."   
  
"I've never heard of him," Wraith said, taking the book and glancing over it.   
  
"He was an Irish poet," Edwin told her.   
  
"Muggle?"   
  
"There's some debate on that," Edwin said. "A lot of people claim that he was a half-blood. It's the same story with Shakespeare."   
  
"Shakespeare?"   
  
Edwin smiled at her. "Never heard of him either?" he asked incredulously. "Even the staunchest of pure-bloods will admit they at least know the name."   
  
"My childhood was somewhat…sheltered," Wraith told him, her voice very dry.   
  
"Ah," Edwin said, sitting back with the same smile. "So, do you like to read?"   
  
"I do," Wraith said, still looking over the little book of poems. "I'm working my way through  _A History of Magic_ , though to be honest it's slow going."   
  
"I'd say," Edwin said with another laugh.   
  
"I like histories though," Wraith said idly. "There's so much I never knew about the world." She leaned forward, offering the book back to him.   
  
He took it, his fingers deliberately brushing hers. "Is that what you do all day up in the castle?" he asked, "reading histories?"   
  
"Mostly," Wraith admitted with a slight smile.   
  
"Nothing else to pass the time?"   
  
"I play music," Wraith said softly. "I found a beautiful grand piano just off the Charms Master's office."   
  
"You play piano?" Edwin said, his brow rising. "I'd bet you play beautifully."   
  
"I'm alright," Wraith said dismissively.   
  
"Wish I could hear you," Edwin told her gently.   
  
Wraith stared at him for a moment. "I don't know anything about you," she said as if realizing it for the first time. "Tell me about you."   
  
"Well, I left Hogwarts about two years ago," Edwin said. "My friend and I opened a bookshop in Hogsmeade, so we didn't go far."   
  
"You opened a shop?" Wraith repeated, "You seem rather young to be a business owner."   
  
"Well, when my parents died, they left me a good amount of money," Edwin told her, his voice going quiet.   
  
Wraith felt a sting in her heart and turned her head away.   
  
Edwin saw the motion and frowned slightly. "What?"   
  
"It was Thorfinn who…" she said quietly, not looking at him. "I'd heard about that…after…"   
  
"After we'd met?" Edwin finished. "How much trouble did you get in that night?"   
  
"I thought he'd kill me for letting you escape," Wraith said, hardly believing she'd let the words escape her lips.   
  
"Let's change the subject," Edwin said swiftly, also looking away. "I don't want to talk about the war, not here with you."   
  
"It's bound to come up," she pointed out.   
  
"Then we'll keep changing the subject," he replied, shifting across the grove to sit closer to her. "Tell me how you learned piano with that 'sheltered' childhood of yours."   
  
She smiled a little, now able to look at him again. "I started learning a little over a year ago," she said. "I was staying with the Malfoys and Narcissa taught me." She tilted her head to the side. "Tell me about your time at Hogwarts. I'd never seen it when it was still a school."   
  
"I was in Hufflepuff," Edwin said with the air of confession. "Though, honestly, I think that was because the Sorting Hat didn't know where the hell else to put me."   
  
"The Sorting Hat?"   
  
Edwin blinked at her, but didn't question her ignorance. "It's what decides which students go to which Houses," he explained, "It looked into our heads to see what qualities we had."   
  
"That's right," Wraith said, "There was something about it in  _Hogwarts, A History_. The Hat belonged to Gryffindor, right?"   
  
"Right," Edwin said with a nod. "You never went to Hogwarts?" he felt he had to ask. It seemed so impossible.   
  
Wraith shook her head. "I'm not a witch, Edwin," she said, "There's little they could have taught me here." She glanced through the trees. "I should head back," she said, rather reluctantly, "before Snape realizes I'm gone and thinks to ask where I went."   
  
She climbed to her feet and dusted the bits of leaves and dirt from her dress. Edwin stood as well, reaching out a hand. Wraith hesitated and then slipped her hand into his.   
  
"Will you come back tomorrow?" he asked her.   
  
"Yes," she said at once. "I've plenty more questions."   
  
"So do I," Edwin said.   
  
She pulled her hand back and he released her. With one last hesitant smile, Wraith turned and started back towards the castle.


	13. Fragile Bonds

_"We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others that in the end we become disguised to ourselves."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith returned to the castle, unsure of just how she felt. She had no real clue of what she was doing, meeting him out in the forest. But despite her insecurity, she fully intended to meet him again. He was right; there was something there between them and she wanted to know what it was.   
  
Walking up to the library, she wondered if she searched the shelves whether she might find any non-wizarding authors among them. The doors to the library were open when she arrived and she could hear someone within.   
  
"There you are," Snape said, stepping out from the shelves with a book in hand. "I'd wondered where you'd wandered off to this morning."   
  
"I went for a walk outside," Wraith told him. "What are you doing down here?"   
  
He lifted the book in his hand, "Looking for something to read," he said, "and looking for you."   
  
"Why?" Wraith asked quickly, seeing something in his face she didn't like. "Has something happened?"   
  
"The Dark Lord sent a message this morning," he replied. "He told me to tell you that he would return at the soonest opportunity, but that he didn't believe it would be all that soon."   
  
"I see," Wraith said softly, turning her eyes away. "I suppose there is Potter to keep him busy."   
  
"Is there a message you wanted passed back?" Snape asked her.   
  
"No," Wraith said shortly. "He'll see me when he wants to. It's how it's always been." She passed Snape to glance through the shelves herself. "Do you know if we have any Shakespeare here? I'm interesting in reading him."   
  
"It's unlikely," Snape said, turning to watch her. "Wraith, where did you go walking?"   
  
"The forest," she said, deciding that a little truth wouldn't hurt.   
  
"The forest?" Snape repeated. "Wraith, you know it  _is_  dangerous out there."   
  
"For you, perhaps," she replied dryly. She looked over and raised a brow. "Remember, Severus, how very hard I am to kill."   
  
"Still, it is tempting fate to––"   
  
"I'm not looking to break my word to you, Severus," Wraith said, sharply cutting him off. "I'll be careful."   
  
"There's no need to be snippy."   
  
"That's rich coming from you," Wraith said, reaching for a book.   
  
"It never crossed my mind that you would break your promise," Snape told her, taking a step closer. "I trust your word."   
  
Wraith sighed, dropping her hand. "I'm sorry."   
  
"I know that you must feel that I've caged you with that promise––"   
  
"I don't," Wraith said, turning to him. "I really don't. I'm alright," she assured him, "I'm just––adjusting. It's harder…when he's here to not think about it."   
  
"Do you think he suspects anything?" Snape asked.   
  
Wraith let out a bitter laugh. "He wouldn't suspect anything unless I fully confessed it to him," she said simply. "It would never occur to him that I would try to kill myself." She stepped away from the shelf, her eyes upon the ground. "I'm going to the music room," she said softly, walking around Snape again.   
  
He let her go without another word, and though he  _did_  trust in her promise, he wondered just how much more the girl could take.      
  
  
  
  
As the weeks passed, Wraith faithfully visited the forest every morning. Sometimes she and Edwin would speak only for a few minutes before she'd run, but now and again they would find themselves talking for hours and not even realizing it.   
  
They began to build upon the strange and fragile connection between them, finding more in common than they'd realized possible. The more time they spent together, the more that Edwin would see her smile, hear her laugh, never knowing just how rare they had become for her.   
  
Wraith was pleased to discover that Edwin had a dry wit that very nearly matched her own and found that she enjoy pricking at his temper just to see it. It wasn't long before Edwin realizing her game though and gave as good as he got.   
  
But even as they slowly grew to something akin to a friendship, he was rather careful in his actions and words. He never touched her, even reached for her hand, without waiting for some sign from her that it was okay. He did not bring up Voldemort or her role as Lady Death. He wanted to do or say nothing that would run her off. In the back of her mind, Wraith realized this and was ridiculously grateful to him for his care. She didn't want to run.   
  
The month of July slowly bled away and one day near the end of the month, Edwin returned to the grove, carrying a covered basket under his arm. When he reached the grove, he was surprised not to see her waiting. More often than not, she'd beat him there. "Wraith?" he called, just in case.   
  
A bird-like whistle drew his attention to a great twisted tree across the grove. He grinned, seeing Wraith lay across one of the branches above. She smiled down at him, looking quite pleased with herself.   
  
"Well," Edwin said, coming to stand beneath the tree, "Hello, little bird."   
  
A flash of warmth ran through her, though her smile faltered slightly in confusion. Rather than reply, she remained silent to gather her thoughts.   
  
"Is the little bird going to come down?" Edwin asked her, raising an eyebrow.   
  
"If I can get up here in a skirt, you can get up here in trousers," she told him pertly.   
  
"A challenge, is it?"   
  
"A challenge it is," Wraith said. She gestured to the basket he carried though, "You can Levitate that up, if you'd like. I didn't have anything to carry when I climbed up."   
  
"Alright," Edwin said, "But no peeking."   
  
"No peeking, I promise."   
  
Edwin flicked his wand at the basket and it rose to where Wraith could take hold of it. She pulled it in and rested it at the crook of two branches before she turned her attention back to Edwin. He managed to pull himself up on the first low branch and from there it was relatively easy.   
  
"This tree," he said, struggling to get higher, "is  _perfect_  for climbing. Old and bent as it is."   
  
"I'd never climbed a tree before," Wraith admitted, watching as he reached her. "I've wanted to, but I never found the proper tree before now." She turned 'round so that they faced each other. "Hello, Edwin," she said with a smile.   
  
"Hello, Wraith," he replied, "Chuck us the basket," he said, nodding to it.   
  
She passed it to him, watching him curiously as he opened the top. "So why couldn't I peek?" she asked as he rummaged through it.   
  
"Because I brought you a present," Edwin said, pulling out a thin book. He held it up with a smile and then offered it to her.   
  
She looked down to read the gilded cover. " _Shakespeare's Sonnets, volume I_ ," she read aloud. She smiled as she lifted her eyes back to him.   
  
"I figured if you liked these that I'd bring you one of his plays," Edwin said. "He was mainly a playwright; it's what he's famous for. Anyway, there are a lot of wizards that think he had to have been at least a half-blood. There was too much that he knew and that he put into his work."   
  
"Maybe he was a Squib," Wraith suggested. "Has anyone considered that?"   
  
Edwin frowned thoughtfully. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone suggest that, actually. It'd make sense though, wouldn't it?"   
  
"So what else have you brought?" Wraith asked, gesturing with the book to the basket.   
  
Edwin smiled and reached into the basket again. He pulled out an apple and threw it at her. She caught it clumsily, pressing it to her heart so she wouldn't drop it. She held it up, frowning at it, before she gave Edwin a curious look. "Breakfast," Edwin said with a shrug as he took out one for himself. "My grandparents, my mum's parents that is, have an orchard. They send me a package of them now and again."   
  
"Oh."   
  
Edwin glanced at her, concerned by her tone. "You alright?"   
  
"Just wondering what it must be like to have grandparents," Wraith said, rolling the apple between her hands, "To have family."   
  
Edwin wanted badly to reach out and touch her, to comfort, but he held himself back. "You really have no one?"   
  
"Only him," Wraith said under her breath. She sighed, lifting her eyes again. "Sorry, I know we agreed not to bring that up."   
  
"It's alright, I'm the one who did it, really," Edwin said, waving at away. "You know––we've been meeting here for a few weeks now––and I've still no idea what we're doing."   
  
"It's a puzzlement," Wraith agreed.   
  
"I want to call you a friend," Edwin told her, "even if we can't trust each other with every little secret."   
  
"Edwin," Wraith said with a slight smile, "you  _are_  my secret."   
  
Edwin couldn't help but laugh at that, which is what Wraith had intended. Still smiling, she bit into the apple to avoid having to speak again.   
  
"There's a lot more to you than people would expect," Edwin said, grinning at her.   
  
"Edwin, people expect me to be a monster," she told him. When the sadness crossed his face, she shook her head. "Don't look like that," she said gently. She shifted and then moved closer to him. "I'm very used to it. You have to understand…I'm a threat to everyone. Even the Death Eaters are afraid of me because of the role the Dark Lord had created for me."   
  
"You deserve more than that," Edwin said.   
  
"That's kind of you to say," Wraith replied. "Shall we change the subject?" she suggested softly.   
  
"I love your eyes."   
  
Wraith blinked at him. "Well, that'll do," she said lightly, shifting embarrassedly.   
  
Edwin laughed again and reached out a hand slowly. When Wraith didn't move back, he gently touched her cheek. "Well, I do," he told her. "They're like glass or crystal."   
  
"They're broken," Wraith murmured, not really sure of what she was saying.   
  
"They're beautiful," Edwin assured her. He felt the urge to close the distance between them, to kiss her, but instead he pulled back, dropping his hand. "Eat your apple," he told her, "It's good for you."   
  
Wraith stuck her tongue out at him, but did as he said. He chuckled at the immature and yet somehow appropriate response.   
  
"Here, let me see the book."   
  
She passed it to him and he opened to a page near the middle. "Are you going to read to me?" she asked, amused.   
  
"Why not?" he said with a shrug.   
  
" _Those lips that love's own hand did make  
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate,'   
To me that languished for her sake.   
But when she saw my woeful state,   
Straight in her heart did mercy come,   
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet   
Was used in giving gentle doom,   
And taught it thus anew to greet_."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, enjoying the way his voice wrapped around the sonnet and made it almost a song.    
  
" _'I hate' she altered with an end_  
 _That followed it as gentle day_  
 _Doth follow night, who, like a fiend,_  
 _From heaven to hell is flown away._  
 _'I hate' from hate away she threw._  
 _And saved my life, saying 'not you.'"_    
  
Edwin glanced at her as he finished the sonnet and her eyes drifted open again.   
  
"Read me another," she asked, smiling.   
  
Edwin's smile matched her own as he complied.   
  
  
  
  
It was nearly two hours later that Wraith finally returned to the castle once more, the little book of sonnets in hand. She had almost reached the front steps when she felt him.   
  
Suppressing the quick stab of fear she felt, she turned towards the gate and watched as he entered and started up the path. Wraith clutched the little book to her heart and waited for him.   
  
"My Wraith," the Dark Lord said, reaching out a hand to touch her chin. "You're looking well."   
  
"I'm feeling better," Wraith said hesitantly.   
  
"Come," Voldemort said, drawing her up the stairs. "Let us talk."


	14. Barrier

_"He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith was a quiet and unobtrusive presence within her own rooms as the Dark Lord settled into the chair before the fireplace. She waited at the door, for he had called for the house-elves to bring tea to them. She made no attempt at conversation, nor did she make a move towards him. She still clutched the book to her chest, a part of her afraid to let it go.   
  
When the house-elf arrived with the tray of tea, Wraith took it from him at the door. Locking the door after shooing the elf out, Wraith crossed to the low table near the chair where the Dark Lord sat. She set the tray down and poured a cup for him before she did anything else. He took the cup, now turning his eyes to her as she settled in front of the table to pour a cup for herself.   
  
"Do us a favor, pet," Voldemort said, "and close the curtains. I find the sun annoyingly bright."   
  
"As you like, my Lord," Wraith said, standing once more and going to the windows.   
  
As she brought the curtains down, Voldemort watched her. Within moments, the only light within the room was cast by the fireplace and scattered candles.   
  
Wraith returned to the fireplace, sitting betwixt it and the table. She sat close to the Dark Lord's feet and settled the little book of sonnets in her lap as she looked up at him. "Has Potter gone to ground again?" she asked softly.   
  
"He has," Voldemort said with a slight scowl, "But he will turn up again. I am sure of it."   
  
"You'll find him," Wraith said, her voice brooking no doubt. "When I am fully well again, then he'll stand no chance."   
  
"Very true," Voldemort said, nodding his head. He tilted his head to one side, "Come a little closer, pet. I'll not bite."   
  
She smiled a little despite herself and did as he asked her.   
  
"I felt the need for a respite," Voldemort told her, reaching down to stroke her dark hair.   
  
"So you came here?" Wraith said, her eyes drifting closed under his touch.   
  
"I could think of no better place," Voldemort said, his voice on the edge of dry.   
  
Wraith opened her eyes slightly to glance at him before she laid her head upon his knee. "Does Severus know that you're here?" she asked in a murmur.   
  
"I don't know," Voldemort said, his dismissive tone suggesting that he didn't much care.   
  
Wraith closed her eyes again, letting herself drift in the comfort his presence so often brought her. Above her, Voldemort sat back comfortably in the chair and continued to stroke her hair.   
  
"How long has it been," Voldemort murmured, "since we've done this, my pet? Strange to think…I believed I've missed it."   
  
"Everything's been so…insane," Wraith said softly. "Ever since McGonagall and the others escaped the Manor…" She lifted her head and Voldemort touched her cheek. "I was keeping myself so busy, just trying to survive the Manor. I couldn't bring myself to be at peace there, not even with you, really."   
  
"We are no longer in the Manor," Voldemort reminded her.   
  
"No," she said, dropping her gaze, "we're not." She laid her head upon his knee again, falling silent.   
  
Voldemort sighed and settled back once more, drinking the tea she had poured him. They remained that way for near an hour and Wraith drifted into something akin to sleep before she'd realized it. Voldemort felt near the same, gazing lazily into the fireplace, enjoying the gift of silence.   
  
"…I did come here for more than a respite," Voldemort said, breaking that silence after another short while.   
  
Wraith opened her eyes, staring into the fire a moment. Slowly, she set the book aside, pushing it under the table, before she lifted her eyes to meet his. Not looking away, she shifted up onto her knees. "You've only to ask," she whispered. She smiled just slightly as he held out a hand to her. She took his hand and moved up to straddle his lap.   
  
Voldemort let his hands drift down her sides, feeling her frail form beneath the cloth of her dress. As she brought her lips to his, a surge of guilt swept through her like brittle knives under her skin.   
  
 _I'm betraying your trust_ , she thought, struggling to keep all sign of her guilt from her face.  _You would kill me if you know who I've been meeting out in those woods._  
  
Wanting nothing more than to drive the dark feeling from her mind and heart, Wraith took her Lord's face in her hands and deepened the kiss. A desperate dance of lips, tongues, and teeth left her gasping and left no room for thought.   
  
Voldemort's mouth drifted to her ear as his hand curled into her hair. "Show me to your bed, my Wraith," he whispered.   
  
Wraith felt her heart constrict within her chest and she caught his mouth with hers one last time before she slipped off of his lap. Her hand entwined with his, she drew him up out of the chair and they crossed the room to her bedroom door. Reaching backwards, she fumbled with the door to open it and they stepped inside. She drew away from him as he gestured to the curtains, closing out the bright sunlight and casting the room into darkness. In the same motion, he lit the single candle by her bedside. He then shut the door behind him.   
  
In the near darkness, he went to her, his hands gripped her waist and he turned her so that she faced the bed away from him. Wraith gripped the bedpost with a shaking hand as Voldemort began to unlace her dress. His hand slid down her bare back as he leaned forward to murmur in her ear. "Take off your dress," he ordered, "I want to see you." He kissed her neck as he drew away again.   
  
Her breath heavy and her mind scattered to the four winds, Wraith slipped the dress from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Glancing over her shoulder, she turned slightly to crawl into the bed. Her pale skin all but glowed in the shadow.   
  
Voldemort's eyes were bright and terrible as he took in the sight of her upon the bed. He stepped forward, edging closer to her. Wraith crawled up to her knees on the bed, putting her face nearly equal with his as he reached her.   
  
 _"Is that what you want?"  
  
"I owe him more than I could ever repay." _  
  
Again, Wraith felt that terrible desperation as she reached for her Lord, twining her arms around his neck as his hands found her skin. "Touch me," she whispered urgently, her lips a breath from his. "I want you to touch me," she told him, willing the words to be true.   
  
The gleam in Voldemort's eyes was dark and victorious as he complied. He laid his hand almost gently over her breast and his head dipped down to close over the other. Wraith let out a shuddering gasp when he used his teeth, ever so lightly.   
  
He put a knee upon the bed, pushing her back and at the same time drawing her closer to him. Wraith clung to him, small gasps and breaths escaping her when she could not hold them back. Voldemort's hand drifted down her side and thigh, drawing her leg up around him as he pushed her back against the bed.   
  
Wraith felt as though she were trapped in a spider's web, any attempt at escape drawing her further and further into the trap. She cried out as he sank his teeth more firmly into her flesh, damn near drawing blood.   
  
Voldemort delighted in the way she writhed beneath, the taste of her skin sweet and tinged with sweat as it warmed beneath his touch.   
  
 _Oh, let me forget_ , Wraith thought frantically,  _for just a little while, let there be nothing but this. Let me him need me like I need him. Oh, gods, forgive me, but let me want this._     
  
Voldemort pressed her firmly against him, his tongue drawing a line between her breasts and dipping down towards her stomach. He drew back a little and Wraith let her hands fall to the bed, trying to catch her breath and slow her heart. Voldemort touched a hand to her face and let it drift down to her chest and along her belly.   
  
"Mine," he murmured, his own breath ragged, "You are nothing but mine. You belong to no one but me and you never will."   
  
"No," Wraith whispered, shaking her head, her eyes never leaving him, "No one but you." But another face flashed across her mind even as she spoke the words.   
  
Voldemort leveled himself up above her and drew off his robes, casting them to the ground beside her fallen dress. He was nude beneath them. As he drew her back to him, Wraith let her hands drift up his chest, beating back the terrible fear that made her heart a stone in her chest. She lifted herself up and pressed her lips to his collarbone, her hand circling round to his shoulders. She traced light kisses over his chest, her tongue darted out to taste him as he had her. Voldemort hissed and pushed her back down to the bed, looming over her like a shadow in the dark.   
  
The candlelight danced over her pale skin, cast shadows to almost hide her face from him. He leaned down again, parting her legs so that he lay on top of her. One hand found her waist and the line of her underwear, the last bit of clothing beneath them. His mouth found hers and his tongue plunged between her lips and entwined with hers. Wraith wrapped her arms around him tightly and used her teeth upon his neck. Voldemort breathed into her hair as her nails bit into his back.   
  
A dark and shuddering sound escaped him, like Wraith had never heard. It sent a thrill through her and she clung tighter, her lips and teeth tracing between his neck and ear.   
  
 _"There's power in it… he doesn't even realize that he gives it to me."_  
  
Everything shattered as a hot searing pain struck the Mark upon her left arm. She cried out at it and fell back against the bed.   
  
Voldemort let out a snarl of rage and frustration above her.   
  
In that moment they both knew what had happened. It was Potter once more––An attack upon the Ministry itself.   
  
For a moment, Voldemort did not move, but in the next second he had lifted himself away from her and grabbed the candlestick, hurling it across the room. It hit the wall and broke, the candle's light dying before it hit the ground.   
  
Wraith let out a sobbing breath. She pressed a hand to her heart and drew her legs up to her chest.   
  
Voldemort stood at the side of the bed, his breath ragged. He stooped down to gather up his robes and quickly drew them on.   
  
"My Lord," Wraith whispered shakily.   
  
"Not a word," Voldemort snapped. "Be silent."   
  
Wraith pressed her lips firmly together and watched helplessly as Voldemort left her alone there in the room, slamming the door after him. She held back until she could no longer hear his footsteps––and then she began to cry. She curled up on the bed and sobbed, though she could not fathom quite why.    
  
  
  
  
Within fifteen minutes, Snape arrived at her bedroom door. She heard him knock hesitantly and was very keen to ignore him. She stifled her sobs behind her hand and waited for him to give up and leave her alone.   
  
"Wraith?" he called through the door. "Wraith, are you alright?" Nothing but silence answered him. "…Wraith?"   
  
Wraith forced herself to take a deep breath as she sat up. "Just a minute," she called, her voice still shaking. Moving slowly, she stood and took up her dressing gown, wrapping it around her and tying it closed before she went to the door.   
  
Seeing her pale and tear-stained face, Snape inhaled sharply. She wouldn't––or couldn't––meet his eyes.   
  
"Wraith, he…he didn't…?"   
  
"He didn't," Wraith said quickly. "The Mark burned before that happened."   
  
"Are you alright, child?" he asked, not liking the way she shook.   
  
Slowly, she shook her head. "Do you know…the first thing that flashed in my mind…when I felt the Mark burn?" she asked.   
  
Snape shook his head.   
  
"' _Oh, thank god_ '," Wraith whispered, her voice breaking. She pressed a hand to her lips and leaned against the doorframe so that she would not fall, fresh tears streaking down her face.   
  
Snape stood, his arms held stiffly at his sides. His stomach was twisted into knots and he felt the hot ball of sickness at the very center of his being.   
  
Wraith took another deep breath, trying to control the tears. "Leave me alone for a little while," she said. "I need to be alone."   
  
Snape nodded once. "I understand," he told her. "Wraith, if he should return…"   
  
"He won't," she said softly, "not today. He'll keep himself away for a time. I know."   
  
Not knowing what else he could say, Snape nodded again and then turned on his heel. He did as she had asked him. He left her alone.   
  
Wraith slipped back into her bed and let herself cry again, though the sobs were considerably softer then.   
  
  
  
  
When she felt that she had control of herself again, Wraith pushed herself away from the bed and dressed again. She sat on the edge of the bed and drew on her shoes, her hands shaking only slightly as she laced them. She then stood and grabbed up her cloak, swirling it to lie over her shoulders.   
  
She moved with naught but purpose as she left her rooms and the castle itself. As she crossed the grounds towards the forest, she closed her eyes and spoke softly, the edge of her magic sending it out.   
  
"Edwin," she whisper, "Will you meet me?"   
  
She felt his surprise and then the concern that quickly followed. He didn't reply aloud, but in her mind's eye, Wraith saw him rise and walk out a room.   
  
A few minutes later, Wraith waited for him in their grove, her arms wrapped tight around herself. It was not long after that Edwin came into sight. He looked at her pale face and saw the trace of fear still in her eyes.   
  
Without thinking, he crossed to her and wrapped his arms loosely around her, drawing her close. Wraith leaned into his shoulder, keeping her arms around herself, but let him hold her, let him comfort.   
  
"What's wrong?" Edwin asked in a whisper, "Wraith, you're trembling."   
  
"It's alright," she murmured, "I just…I got scared. I wanted to see you."   
  
"Will you tell me what happened?" he asked.   
  
"I can't," she replied softly.   
  
"It's okay," Edwin murmured, pressing his lips to her temple. "I've got you. I'm here."   
  
Wraith felt the sigh escape her. "I know."


	15. One Little Secret

_"If you would convince a man that he does wrong, do right. But do not care to convince him. Men will believe what they see. Let them see."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape had only just returned to his office when Phineas scrambled back into his portrait. "Headmaster, the girl has left."   
  
"Left?" Snape said sharply, "What do you mean 'left'?"   
  
"She has left the castle," Phineas said. "Not too long after you left her, she dressed again and took her cloak. I caught sight of her through the window. She was heading towards the forest again."   
  
Snape went to the window to gaze down at the forest. "What is out there for her?" he asked himself. "Why does she keep returning to that forest?"   
  
"I don't think it's a matter of 'what', Severus," Dumbledore said, "but of 'whom'."   
  
"Yes," Phineas said slowly, "yes, she returned today with a book in hand that she did not have with her when she left. I'd almost forgotten in the wake of…everything else." He shuddered lightly and pushed the thought from his mind. "There's someone out there."   
  
"You don't suppose that Vivaldi has returned once more?" Snape asked, turning to face the portraits.   
  
"He wouldn't," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, "He couldn't. Not yet."   
  
"Perhaps the Harper boy?" Phineas suggested, seeming to examine his hand, "He's in Hogsmeade, isn't that what you said? It wouldn't be that hard to get from the village to the forest."   
  
"Harper," Snape repeated thoughtfully. "It could very well be him."   
  
"A clandestine meeting between two young people…it's not all that unusual," Phineas drawled.   
  
"I don't think that it's Harper," Dumbledore said slowly.   
  
"Who else then?" Snape asked dryly. "Who else would know that she's here?"   
  
"Who is the one who told Janesch she was here?" Dumbledore asked him. "He did not tell you who gave him the information, did he?"   
  
"No," Snape said, shaking his head. "He simply said that I did not need to know."   
  
"He was staying with the werewolves, wasn't he?" Phineas asked. "Isn't that how the two met in the first place?"   
  
"But the werewolves don't know where Wraith is," Snape said, waving the suggestion away, "They don't even know that she lives."   
  
"Well," Phineas said, "as I mentioned before, the girl has plenty of secrets left to her. As much as she's told you, I doubt that she's told everything."   
  
"Why would she?" Snape asked. "It isn't as though I've shared all of mine."   
  
"Have you thought to?" Dumbledore asked softly.   
  
"Absolutely not," Snape said firmly. "She is still most loyal to the Dark Lord. Even if he were to ask too much of her––she would never betray him."   
  
    
  
  
It was not long before Wraith pulled away from Edwin's embrace, despite the odd comfort she felt with him. He let her go, waiting for her to speak.   
  
"I don't know what I'm doing out here," she said softly, not looking at him. "But I didn't know where else to go. I'm sorry for dragging you out here."   
  
"Don't do that," Edwin said, rather sharply. "I'm your friend. There's nothing wrong with asking me for comfort."   
  
"But  _why_  are we friends?" she demanded to know. "Why are we doing this?"   
  
"Because we enjoy each other's company," Edwin said simply. "We're friends, Wraith, because we both enjoy reading and music. Because we can spend hours just talking to one another. It doesn't have to be as complicated as you insist on making it," he told her with a laugh.   
  
"But it's not as simple as you want it to be either," Wraith said despairingly.   
  
Edwin looked at her for a long moment. "Why are  _you_  here?" he asked her frankly. "Why do you keep coming back?"   
  
Wraith finally brought her eyes back to his. "…Because I like hearing you talk," she told him, smiling just a little, "Because you can make me laugh…when I'd almost forgotten how."   
  
"See?" Edwin said with a smile of his own, holding out a hand, "That's why we're doing this. You already had your answer."   
  
"He would kill me if he ever knew," Wraith said, stepping away.   
  
"Yeah well, I wouldn't be too popular with my own set if they knew," Edwin told her, "Hell, I haven't even told Alexis where I go every day."   
  
"Has she asked?"   
  
"No," Edwin said, shaking his head, "Not with words anyway. But I know she wonders."   
  
Wraith glanced over her shoulder, knowing that if she were smart she wouldn't stay long. But she didn't want to leave just yet. With a sigh, she moved to one of the trees and sat at the base. Edwin followed suit, not sitting far.   
  
"So you and Alexis…?" Wraith said hesitantly, "You went to school together?" she asked, abruptly changing her question. "Was she in Hufflepuff too?"   
  
Edwin laughed, shaking his head. "Nah. Alex was in Ravenclaw. She was always the smart one out of all of us. I provided funding, but she's really the one who runs the shop." He tilted his head to one side, smiling at her. "You wanna know how we met?" he asked.   
  
"Sure," Wraith said, thinking that Edwin was well aware of what she hadn't asked.   
  
"When I started out at Hogwarts, I wasn't so good at making friends," Edwin said, "But I had one and she and I are still friends to this day. I met Alexis when they started dating."   
  
Wraith frowned slightly, confused. "She…you said 'she'––So Alexis and  _her_  dated."   
  
"That's right," Edwin said with a grin.   
  
"Are they still together?" Wraith wondered.   
  
"No," Edwin said, a little sad. "They drifted apart soon after we left school. Clara was never one to be tied down––not even by love."   
  
Wraith's head snapped around and she stared at him. "…Clara?" she repeated questioningly, "Not…you don't mean  _Clara Bauman_?"   
  
Edwin chuckled under his breath. "Actually…that's exactly who I mean. Small little world we live in, isn't it?"   
  
"Huh." Wraith sat back against the tree, rather befuddled. "Wait a moment," she said, leaning forward again, " _You're_  the friend, aren't you?"   
  
"Pardon?"   
  
"Clara told me that she joined the Order because her best friend had," Wraith said, "She was talking about you."   
  
"Yeah, that's Clara," Edwin said dryly. "Wait, I thought you'd only met the once," he said. "What were you doing talking about the Order? McGonagall said you didn't know that Clara was one of us until she told you."   
  
"I only saw her once more after that," Wraith said. "I had a friend, Janesch, and he took me out one night to distract me. He took me to this backwoods pub,  _La Magia_. Clara was there, singing."   
  
"She still is, actually," Edwin said. "I've been down there a few times to see her. It's definitely her kind of place."   
  
"I'd never met anyone like Clara," Wraith said, rather fondly. "I still haven't."   
  
"Sounds about right," Edwin said, laughing. "Alexis was the smart, Clara the wild one."   
  
"And what are you?"   
  
He shrugged, "I don't know."   
  
Wraith glanced at him and a slightly wicked gleam came to her eyes. "…She kissed me."   
  
Edwin let out a choking laugh. "I'm sorry, what?"   
  
Wraith held up two fingers and wiggled them, "Twice."   
  
"Yeah," Edwin said slowly, sitting back, "Yeah, that's definitely Clara." His eyes narrowed, though he couldn't stop the smile he wore. "Did you kiss her back?"   
  
"Is that any of your business?" she asked in return, her own eyes narrowed as well.   
  
Edwin was laughing too hard to reply with his usual wit. Wraith only held out a moment more before she was also overcoming by laughter. The sound was strange to her own ears, but she delighted in it. When she was finally able to catch her breath, she sighed deeply.   
  
"…I should go back," she said, her smile wilting just slightly, "Severus will know that I've gone and I don't want him to come looking for me."   
  
Edwin looked at her carefully a moment and then leaned over to pluck a wildflower from the grass. He stood and offered his hand to her. Wraith took the hand and let him pull her to her feet. Moving closer to her, he slipped the little blue-violet flower into her dark hair.   
  
"You know," he said, touching a hand under her chin, "I really can't allow Clara to outdo me."   
  
Wraith felt a flutter of what could have been fear in her heart, but she flatly ignored it. She closed her eyes as Edwin's lips brushed over hers once…and then twice. On the third kiss, he lingered a moment longer. Wraith touched her hand to his cheek, keeping him close.  
  
Why was it different, she wondered, from what she had shared with Clara or her Lord? Why did it make her feel so light?   
  
Her eyes drifted open as she pulled back. Their eyes met and held.   
  
"…I have to go," she whispered.   
  
"See you tomorrow?"   
  
"Of course," she replied, smiling softly. She lowered her eyes and stepped around him, following the path that led back to the castle. Edwin's eyes followed her until he lost sight of her among the trees. He was still smiling.      
  
  
  
  
As Wraith slipped back into the castle, she carefully schooled her face away from the smile upon it. Certain the mask was in place, she started up the winding steps. At first she thought to return to her room, but the music called her away.   
  
At her piano, she felt the need for something brighter than she had been playing in the recent weeks. Opening a book of Beethoven, she found what she was looking for in a song entitled  _Fur Elise._    
  
She played, the music drifting from her fingertips like rainwater. It wasn't until the end of the song that she realized she wasn't alone. Turning quickly, her eyes narrowed slightly at Snape.   
  
"Must you always sneak up on me?" she asked him tartly.   
  
"Are you alright?"   
  
"Yes," she said, her sharp tone easing. "Do we know what's happened at the Ministry?"   
  
"I've heard nothing yet," Snape said, gravely.   
  
"You weren't called to join them?" Wraith asked, "I'm surprised."   
  
"I do not mind being overlooked in this instance," Snape said, raising a brow. "Potter would, no doubt,  _very_  much like to see me dead."   
  
"You don't think you could handle yourself against a nineteen year old wizard?" Wraith's tone was dry and taunting.   
  
"If it were only between us, then I would have no worry," Snape told her, "But with his friends and puppets behind him? Not to mention my fellow Death Eaters complicating matters beyond all virtues of reason as they tend to do? Those are not odds I'd care to play."   
  
"Do you know what I think our problem is?" Wraith spoke softly. "Why they so often seem to have the advantage over us?"   
  
"What do you think?"   
  
"We're not team players," Wraith said wryly. "We're all for more concerned with our own ends to ever truly work together. That's where Potter and his like trump us."   
  
"You are a clever girl, Wraith," Snape said. "I do believe that is what makes you so frightening."   
  
Wraith laughed shortly and turned back to her piano.   
  
"Wraith, who are you meeting out in those woods?"   
  
Her face deadpan, Wraith turned back to him. "I've no idea what you mean."   
  
If he hadn't known better, he might have believed her, so convincing was her tone.   
  
"Hm," he scoffed. "Nice flower," he said with a taunting sort of sneer.   
  
He felt highly amused at the way her eyes widened just slightly and he caught the shock and trace of embarrassment in them.   
  
"Keep your little secret," he told her, stepping towards the door. "It's of no real concern to me."   
  
"Well, it is just one little secret," Wraith said around a sly smile, touching a hand lightly to the flower still in her hair. "Every girl should have one, don't you think?"    
  
Snape snorted in amusement and started out the door.   
  
"Severus?"  
  
He paused, looking back.  
  
"Why do you keep my secrets?" she asked him plainly.  
  
"I see no reason to share them," he replied with a slight lift of his shoulders.  
  
"He would be very angry," Wraith said, "if he ever knew."  
  
"All the more reason not to tell him, then," Snape said reasonably.  
  
Wraith smiled just a little as she looked to the piano once more. "I'm not done playing yet," she said to him, "But perhaps later I could have that rematch?"  
  
"As you like," Snape said, bowing his head to hide his surprise and odd pleasure.   
  
Wraith threw one last small smile over her shoulder before she started  _Fur Elise_  over again just because she'd enjoyed it. Snape left her be, the song playing on in his head when he could no longer hear it.


	16. At The Ministry

_"The bravest thing you can do when you are not brave is to profess courage and act accordingly."_  
  
  
  
  
"Harry, look out!"   
  
At Hermione's warning, Harry ducked behind the great statue just in time. The curse intended for him hit the stone, cracking it. The atrium was a mess of fallen stone and broken glass already. Also taking cover behind the statue was Ron and Neville.   
  
"This was a grand idea, Harry," Ron said, his sarcasm thick enough to cut through.   
  
"Got their attention, didn't it?" Harry retorted, risking a glance at their enemies. He saw Rabastan fall in a flash of red light and was unsurprised to see Hermione standing behind him.   
  
She ran across the dangerous open ground to join them. "Kingsley's pinned down on the second floor," she said, catching her breath. "McGonagall's on her way up, but they could probably use our help. Thickness has cut off the lift, though and Yaxley's on the stairs."   
  
"How long do you think we have?" Neville asked.   
  
"Are you kidding?" Harry asked, "I'm just glad to be alive at this point!" He took his invisibility cloak from his pocket and threw it over Hermione. "Take care of Yaxley," he told her. "We'll follow."   
  
Hermione started away, at first they could hear her footsteps. They waited until they heard a strangled yell and a loud  _bang_  before Harry nodded to them and they started across the atrium to the stairwell. Yaxley lay in a heap at the bottom of the steps. Harry stepped over him and grinned at Hermione when she pulled off the cloak and handed it back to him.   
  
"Brilliant, Hermione," he said, stuffing the cloak back into his pocket.   
  
"Let's go," she suggested, turning and running up the stairs. Harry, Ron, and Neville took off after her, speeding up the steep stairs.   
  
Halfway up the first flight, Harry cried out, pressing a hand to his scar as he fell against the wall. After a moment, he lowered his hand. "He's coming," he said darkly. "They've called him."   
  
"Where was he?" Hermione asked. "Was it Slytherin's Manor?"   
  
"No," Harry said. "I think it was Hogwarts. He'll be here soon.  _Move_!" He pushed the face that had flashed before his eyes to the back of his mind.   
  
Again they ran until they'd reached the second level. At the door, they paused, each of them sinking to their knees. Harry stepped into the hall, keeping low as he glanced in either direction.   
  
"It's clear," he said under his breath.   
  
Together, they hurried down the hall, following the sound of further fighting. As they reached the first open door, a Death Eater was flung out of the room, hitting the far wall and then falling to the ground, unmoving. Harry stuck his head in the door and was nearly decapitated by another curse.   
  
" _Kingsley_!" he called over the sound of the battle.   
  
"It's about  _time_ , Mr. Potter!" McGonagall called in answer.   
  
The four former students of hers burst into the room, throwing spells at the few Death Eaters remaining. When the only ones standing were of the Order, Harry let out a breath. He looked to Kingsley and McGonagall. Kingsley sported a large bruise just under his eye and a deep cut on his cheek. McGonagall seemed unhurt, though her usually neat hair was mussed and her hat askew. "He's coming," he told them quickly. "He's on his way now."   
  
"Then we had best hurry," McGonagall suggested, "Rabastan's office is one more level up. Follow me, if you will."   
  
  
  
  
Voldemort appeared in the atrium below, his face a livid mask as he took in the destruction. He raised his wand and dispatched an Order member with a flash of green light. There were screams as the rest realized who had appeared, but to their credit, no one ran. But his presence turned the tide of a battle that had been a stalemate. Within minutes, he and his Death Eaters had finished off the rest.   
  
The Dark Lord bent and grabbed Rabastan's collar, dragging the half-conscious man up. "Where is he?" Voldemort hissed.   
  
"Ran…ran upstairs."   
  
With a snarl, he threw the man back to the ground and stalked to the stairwell. He sneered at the fallen form of Yaxley and thought with vindictive pleasure what the man's punishment would be for failing.   
  
The real question was––what did Potter want within the Ministry?   
  
  
  
  
"He's here," Harry breathed the words, glancing over his shoulder at the door.   
  
"Harry, quick, your cloak!" Hermione hissed.   
  
But Harry shook his head. "No."   
  
"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said sharply. "Your cloak."   
  
Harry met her eyes and held them, and then with a muttered curse, he threw his cloak over himself, disappearing instantly.   
  
McGonagall went back to searching through Rabastan's desk. Kingsley stood guard at the doorway, hiding just out of sight. Hermione and Ron were scouring through the filing cabinets along the walls. Neville was out in the hall itself, acting as first defense. Harry watched the door with a sinking feeling.   
  
"Got it," McGonagall said swiftly, holding up a heavy file.   
  
"Let's get out of here," Ron said, moving to the door.   
  
"Potter," McGonagall said, holding out the file to thin air. Harry took it, hiding it beneath the cloak as well. They slipped out into the hall to join Neville, who was staring down the hall and pale as a ghost.   
  
"Time to go," he said under his breath.   
  
At the very end of the hall they saw him, a cloaked and pale figure moving like a shade towards them. Harry saw the vivid red of Voldemort's eyes and knew what he had to do. He reached out and touched Hermione's hand. When she squeezed his hand in return, Harry passed her the file from under the cloak. He then moved to stand in front of the others––and threw off the cloak.   
  
He pointed his wand directly at Voldemort's chest. "Get going," he said to the others, not taking his eyes from the Dark Lord.   
  
"Harry," Ron said, prepared to argue.   
  
"Go," Harry told him firmly, "It's me he wants."   
  
Kingsley touched a hand to Ron's shoulder, drawing him back. With one last fearful glance at Voldemort, Ron began to back away from Harry. Slowly at first, he and the rest started down the hall, away from Voldemort and Harry. Voldemort did not spare them even a glance.   
  
"Potter," he said, his voice a whispered hiss of breath.   
  
Harry did not reply. He simple kept his wand up and waited for the snake to strike. Voldemort raised his wand and there was a flash of brightest green. Harry dodged the curse by millimeters, throwing himself against the wall.   
  
" _Expelliarmus_!"   
  
He did not really expect the spell to work, but the flash of red light distracted Voldemort just long enough that Harry was able to slip the cloak back on and disappear from sight. He knelt on the ground and didn't move, his eyes still on Voldemort.   
  
The Dark Lord scanned the hall with burning eyes. "Cowardly little boy," Voldemort said, the words echoing slightly in the silence of the hall. To Harry surprised and trepidation, Voldemort didn't move forward to search the hall as he had expected. Instead, the Dark Lord looked behind him. "Time to prove your worth, werewolf."   
  
A woman stalked forward out of the darkness, followed by two men. She was fairly young, with wild hair and dark skin. Harry saw the glint of gold at her eyebrow and the many hoops on each ear. She glanced at Voldemort and smirked just slightly. As Voldemort had, she scanned the hall with dark eyes. Then she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Harry gripped his wand tightly, tensing beneath the cloak. Voldemort had called her a werewolf. Would she be able to smell him under the cloak?   
  
"He's still here," the woman said, her voice unexpectedly rich and deep. She stepped forward slowly. Harry froze when she was within inches of him. "Come on, Potter," she murmured, "come out and play with us. I promise I won't bite."   
  
"Ze'eva," said a sharp voice from behind Voldemort.   
  
Ze'eva threw a mocking grin at whoever it was. "Relax, brother mine. I won't take what belongs to the Dark Lord," she said, her eyes falling to Voldemort. She nodded once to him. "I'm not suicidal."   
  
She went back to the task at hand. A moment later, she stopped dead, right next to where Harry knelt. She sniffed, turning her head in his direction. "Hello, little rabbit," she whispered delightedly.   
  
She lunged at him, though she could not see him. Harry brought his fist up, hitting her hard in the stomach. Ze'eva grunted, the breath knocked out of her.   
  
Harry clambered to his feet and hurried down the hall away from Voldemort and the werewolves. He heard a snarl behind him and the sound of pounding feet. Risking a glance over his shoulder, his heart stuttered in his chest. A dark-haired man was right behind him, reaching out a hand to catch his invisible prey. His fingers brushed over Harry's shoulder and he let out a howl of triumph before launching himself forward.   
  
He caught Harry around the waist and they both slammed into the ground. The man growled as ripped the cloak from Harry and tossed it aside. He threw a punch and hit Harry across the face. There was a sound of breaking glass as one lens of his glasses shattered with the impact. The man wrestled Harry's wand from his hand and tossed that aside as well.   
  
"You hit my sister," the man growled, "Didn't anyone tell you that you're not supposed to hit a girl?"   
  
"She's no girl," Harry retorted.   
  
The man let out a barking laugh before he called out. "Got him, Dark Lord, if you want to finish him then now's the time."   
  
Harry felt a dead weight in his stomach as Voldemort came into view.   
  
"Harry Potter," the Dark Lord murmured.   
  
"Nice going, Rafe," Ze'eva said, coming into sight as well. She had a hand pressed to her stomach, but wore a wicked grin. "Time to die, rabbit," she crooned.   
  
"Move aside, Rafe," Voldemort said, gesturing to the werewolf.   
  
Rafe sneered down at Harry before he complied. He got to his feet and stood beside his sister. Voldemort stood over Harry, his wand pointed at Harry's chest. Harry felt quite certain that he was going to die in that moment.   
  
"What were you after here, Potter?" Voldemort asked him.   
  
Harry slowly sat up, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's. "Do you really think I'm going to tell you?"   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed and Harry saw the curse on his lips. But a flash of red light came from somewhere behind Harry and Voldemort was forced to step aside or be hit by it. The light hit Rafe dead in the chest instead and the werewolf crumpled to the floor. Ze'eva let out a shriek.   
  
"Harry!"   
  
He scrambled back onto his feet, lunging for his cloak and wand. He grabbed them and at once threw a Stunning spell at random behind him as he ran down the hall. Hermione and Ron were waiting for him. Harry heard Voldemort scream in rage as he took chase.   
  
Down the stairs the three ran, each praying that they would reach the atrium where they would be able to Disapparate.   
  
"The others?" Harry asked as they hurried down.    
  
Hermione shook her head. It was the only answer Harry got.   
  
They burst into the atrium and Hermione reached back to take Harry and Ron's hands. They turned on the spot––Harry caught one last look at Voldemort before they were gone.   
  
  
  
  
Back at Hogwarts, Snape sat across from Wraith, a chess board between them. He reached out a hand to move his rook when he felt the flash of pain from the Mark. He heard Wraith hiss and knew that she had felt it too. There was silence as they both took in the information passed through the Mark.   
  
"Oh, bloody hell," Wraith murmured.   
  
"I couldn't have put it better myself," Snape said. He continued to reach forward and moved the rook over a few spaces. "Check."   
  
Wraith immediately put her knight between her king and Snape's threatening rook. "Attacking the Ministry is bold and not just a little stupid," she murmured, waiting for Snape's next move. "What do you suppose they thought to accomplish?"   
  
"There's a great deal of information within the Ministry," Snape said, "There's any number of things they could have been after."   
  
"And do you suppose they got it?"   
  
"I pity those at the Ministry if they did," Snape said simply, choosing to move a pawn for want of a better choice.   
  
Wraith moved her queen. "Checkmate," she said softly.


	17. Trust

_"You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you do not trust enough."_  
  
  
  
  
"Headmaster," Phineas hissed softly early in the morning, a few days later.   
  
Snape groaned, pulling himself out of sleep. "What?" he snapped irritably.   
  
"My apologies, Headmaster," Phineas said from the painting, "I just thought you should see…"   
  
"See what?" Snape asked, moving to sit at the edge of his bed.   
  
"It's the girl," Phineas said slowly, "She's headed back for the forest, no doubt to meet her paramour."   
  
" _And_?" Snape asked, his patience thinned.   
  
"Look out the window," Phineas said, "You ought to be able to see her still."   
  
With a scowl, Snape stood and crossed to the window overlooking the grounds. Looking down, he frowned a little. Wraith was all but running across the grass towards the trees, her long hair streaming behind her. He saw at once what Phineas had woken him to see. The girl was, for the first time in Snape's memory of her, wearing a more contemporary dress than usual. It was a pale blue perhaps a shade or two darker than her eyes and the skirt stopped just below her knees.   
  
"Huh."   
  
Moving back from the window when Wraith had disappeared from sight into the forest, Snape crossed to his wardrobe to dress. "Well, I think there's little doubt that she's meeting  _someone_  of interest," he said.   
  
"A gallant sort of young man," Phineas drawled with a sly smile, "To give poetry and flowers."   
  
"Assuming, of course, that it  _is_  a young  _man_ ," Snape said, just as slyly. He went down the steps that led into the office and was greeted by Dumbledore's amused smile.   
  
"What makes you suggest that, Severus?" he asked, on the edge of laughter.   
  
"What if it is Miss Bauman out there?" Snape asked, raising a brow. "I'm sure you recall her 'preferences' when she was here at school. And rumor suggests that she hasn't changed much."   
  
"But…" Phineas sputtered. "The girl…Wraith, she's not…is she?"   
  
"Is there any evidence that she wouldn't be?" Snape asked in reply. "Hm…well, I suppose there is only one way to find out."   
  
"Severus, you're not going to spy on the girl," Dumbledore said plaintively.   
  
"She ought to be used to it by now," Snape said dryly, stepping out.   
  
As he reached the entrance hall, Snape paused and cast upon himself a powerful Disillusionment charm, hiding him from plain sight. He walked quickly out the doors and across the grounds, hoping that Wraith had not gotten too far ahead of him.   
  
He walked a bit slower when he reached the trees, very conscious of the few brittle leaves that had fallen early and the bits of bark and branches. He moved carefully, listening very intently as he went for he had lost sight of the girl.   
  
After a few minutes though, he heard a voice. Then he heard her laugh.   
  
He had though that he'd heard her laughter before, but it had been nothing like this. It was warm and bright as he had never imagined her to be.   
  
Moving a little faster, he soon came to a small grove and finally saw them. Wraith was leaning back against a tall and twisted tree at the edge of the grove, her face lit by a warm and happy smile. At the other edge was a young man, dressed practically in Muggle clothing, thin glasses perched upon a proud nose. With a soft hiss, Snape realized that he recognized the boy…and he could not believe the Wraith's daring. As he watched, Rowle crossed the grove, holding out a hand.   
  
"Look at you," Edwin said, smiling at her.   
  
She took the offered hand and he pulled her away from the tree. Wraith laughed lightly as he made her spin around.   
  
"Strange," Edwin said when she faced him again, "how both the old and new suit you. You look very pretty."   
  
"Thank you," Wraith said, ducking her head to hide the slight blush. "I was trying to be practical, actually. A shorter skirt makes it easier to move around the forest."   
  
"Pretty and practical, then," Edwin said with a grin.   
  
He leaned down and lightly kissed her cheek. He lingered there a moment, waiting to see if she would lift her face to him. She did not, though she touched a hand to his cheek and leaned into him. The motion was so sweet it was almost painful to see.   
  
But then, Wraith took a step back, making distance between them that he would not cross without permission. Snape could see in the boy's face something he had not expected.   
  
 _He loves her_.   
  
The thought was incredible. It was impossible. Yet it was so.   
  
With a sigh, Edwin's face cleared and he smiled again. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. He took out a small book, similar to the book of sonnets he had given her before. "As promised," he said, handing it to Wraith.   
  
She smiled at the little book. " _As You Like It_ ," she read aloud.   
  
"It's one of my favorites," Edwin told her. "I think you'll like it too."   
  
"Thank you," Wraith said again, lifting her eyes to his. "…I want to show you something," she told him, taking another step back, "Something in forest."   
  
"Wraith, we do need to be careful," Edwin said.   
  
"You're safe with me," Wraith told him, moving back to him. "Don't worry," she said, grinning, "I can protect you."   
  
The slightly mocking tone did not go unmissed.   
  
"Has anyone ever told you that you're something of a brat?" Edwin asked her.   
  
"Not to my face," Wraith said wryly, "but it's almost certainly been thought often enough."   
  
"Bit of a reverse, isn't it?" Edwin asked, raising an eyebrow, "Isn't the knight supposed to be the one who protects the princess?"   
  
"Only when the princess needs protecting," Wraith replied. "And this princess doesn't."  She reached out and took his hand in hers, pulling him along, her other hand pressing the book to her heart. "Come on then, my knight," she said, tilting her head to one side, "We've dragons to slay."   
  
As they disappeared into the trees, Snake decided that he had seen enough. When he was certain that they were a distance away, he slipped back through the woods and towards the castle. It wasn't until he had closed the front doors behind him that he dropped the Disillusionment spell though.   
  
When he reached the office once more, he sat down without a word behind the desk, frowning thoughtfully.   
  
"Well?" Phineas demanded after a few minutes of pensive silence. "Who was out there? Did you see them?"   
  
"Severus?" Dumbledore prompted gently when still the man did not reply.   
  
"Apparently, I've underestimated her once again. It was Rowle," Snape said, sounding surprised at his own reply. "Edwin Rowle. I don't know how she dares such a risk," he continued, turning to the portraits.   
  
"Edwin Rowle? The boy that escaped her at the safe-house?" Dumbledore said, his silver brow rising, "The one she  _allowed_  to escape?"   
  
"The very one," Snape said, "What he's doing out here, I've no idea. Of course," he said, shaking his head, "This means that Miss Jeffries is a better liar than I thought. If Rowle is at Hogsmeade, then she has seen him. There is no doubt."   
  
"Such as with the Wraith, Alexis has always been one to be underestimated," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly. "And we ought to know she's good at keeping secrets. She and Miss Bauman kept their relationship a secret for a good number of years while they were here at school."   
  
"I heard her laugh," Snape said softly, still frowning. "I'd never heard her laugh like that before. For whatever reason, Rowle brings that happiness out of her, and I think…I think that with him she can forget…just for a little while...all that she has been in the past." He hung his head, sighing, "But if the Dark Lord were  _ever_  to find out…"   
  
"Then we had best make sure that he doesn't," Dumbledore said simply.   
  
  
  
  
Out in the forest, Wraith led Edwin along a thin and twisted path through the trees. Edwin felt slightly nervous, for their path took them rather close to the castle, but he trusted Wraith enough that he did not voice his worries.   
  
After a few minutes, he simply enjoyed walking along with her, her hand still clasped in his. The sun that reached them through the trees was warm and the gentle wind carried the scent of the late summer flowers. He walked a little faster so that they fell into step beside each other.  
  
Wraith lifted her eyes to his briefly and smiled at him. As it always did, that smile touched a place in Edwin's heart and made him feel weak and giddy. Feeling foolish with it, he ducked his head and turned his attention to their path instead.   
  
"Here," Wraith said softly, slowing her step. "This is my favorite place in the forest." She squeezed his hand and then released it before she took off at almost a run.   
  
Edwin followed her with a slight laugh, and then stopped dead as he entered the clearing Wraith had brought them to. The little rolling field was covered with white heather that swayed in the gentle wind. The soft scent of the heather covered him as he slowly walked across it to meet her.  
  
Wraith stood at the center of the field. "Isn't it beautiful?" she asked him.   
  
"It is," Edwin told her, looking around. He smiled softly as he turned his eyes back to hers. "I give a flower and you give me hundreds."   
  
Wraith smiled in return and knelt to pluck up one of the flowers. "I do seem to have a tendency to overdo things now and then," she said, slipping the flower into his hand.   
  
Edwin hesitated only a moment before he slipped that hand around her waist and drew her closer. Wraith let out a nervous breath, but tilted her head up as Edwin pressed his lips gently to hers. The book fell from her hand as she lifted her hands to frame his face. Edwin's other hand touched the back of her neck and the kiss deepened without his intending it.   
  
For a long and breathless moment, they remained that way, lost in each other among the pale flowers.   
  
With a shuddering sigh, Edwin touched his forehead to hers and smiled. "I'm glad you're here," he told her.   
  
"So am I," Wraith whispered back, linking her hands behind his neck. Without even thinking about it, she lifted her face and kissed him again. "Do you know what I did with that little wildflower?" she asked him.   
  
"What?"   
  
"I pressed it into the book of sonnets you gave me," she told him, smiling, "so I could keep it."   
  
At his bright and touched smile, Wraith felt her own falter slightly. She pulled away from him, but did not go far.   
  
"Edwin, may I tell you something?"   
  
"Of course," Edwin said, frowning a little in concern.   
  
Wraith looked at him for a moment as if searching for the words. Finally, she turned her back on him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you remember me telling you about my friend Janesch?"   
  
"He's the one who took you to  _La Magia_ , right?" Edwin asked, "The vampire?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, nodding her head.   
  
"Whatever happened to him?" Edwin asked when she stayed silent. "Why doesn't he visit you here?"   
  
"Because months ago, at the beginning of the year…I asked him to do something. Something I now regret," Wraith said softly. Edwin took a step towards her, but paused when she finally turned back to him. "…I asked him to kill me."   
  
Edwin felt his heart lurch in his chest and he could find no words.   
  
"I was so tired, Edwin," Wraith continued, turning away again, "and I could not stand what I had become. I'd have killed myself, saving for the fact that I am very hard to kill. With Janesch's help, I was certain of death."   
  
"He refused?" Edwin managed to ask.   
  
"No, he didn't," Wraith said. "He was going to…but he was stopped. Snape came upon us and pulled Janesch off of me. But it was too late…Janesch had tasted my blood. He left, so that I would be safe from him. I almost hated him for leaving me…but he wanted me to live."   
  
She took a deep breath, collecting her scattered thoughts. "For months after, as you've no doubt heard, I acted as my Lord's hunter. I scoured the country for those that opposed him. But what he didn't know––what  _no one_  knew––what that I also hunted poisons, trying to find one powerful enough to end me."   
  
"Wraith…"   
  
"Let me finish," she said to him, her voice thick, "I'm almost done." She breathed again and it was shakier. "I never did find anything strong enough," she said. "…About a week before I saw you again…I tried to throw myself from the Astronomy Tower."   
  
Edwin let out a strangled breath, unsure of what he could say. But the question burned to be asked, "What stopped you?"   
  
"Snape again," Wraith said, with the slightest smile. "Severus caught me and pulled me away from that edge. He promised not to tell the Dark Lord…in return for a promise." She turned to look at him, still smiling slightly. "…He made me promise that I would not try again."   
  
"…Snape?" Edwin said, with a small laugh, glancing in the direction of the castle.   
  
"I know, right?" Wraith said, her smile widening despite the tears in her eyes. "But he saved my life," she said, crossing back to him, "…and I'm glad," she whispered, touching a cool hand to Edwin's cheek.   
  
Edwin took her hand and kissed her palm, reaching out with his other hand to brush away the trace of tears on her cheek.   
  
"There's still so much that I don't know," Wraith murmured, "about myself…about you. And I'm glad."   
  
Edwin leaned down and kissed her cheek, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me," he murmured. He pulled away, touching his hand to her cheek again. "Come on," he said, sitting down among the flowers and pulling her down as well, "I'll read a bit of the play to you."   
  
Wraith smiled as she sat beside him, resting her cheek upon his shoulder as he reached for the fallen book.


	18. Need

_"There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness."_  
  
  
  
  
It was little more than two weeks after the fiasco at the Ministry that the Dark Lord finally returned to Hogwarts.   
  
It was early evening and Snape had challenged Wraith to another chess match, rather determined to finally win against her. He'd played her to a draw several times, but for the most part, the girl had won against him.   
  
"If I didn't know better," he said as they walked together across the entrance hall to the small room where they usually played, "I'd accuse you of cheating."   
  
Wraith smiled slightly at him, surprised to find that she was enjoying Snape's company. "Good thing you know better then," she said, "I'd hate for you to sully my reputation with unfounded accusations."   
  
"Oh, yes, what great and terrible news that would be," Snape said dryly, "The Lady Death cheats at chess."   
  
Wraith laughed, but the bright sound died in her throat a moment later. Snape paused when he realized that the girl had stopped dead in her tracks. Following her gaze, he felt something akin to an electric shock.   
  
Voldemort stood before the front doors, apparently having just entered the castle. Wraith swallowed back the jolt of fear she'd felt at the sight of him.   
  
"My Lord," she said.   
  
"Wraith," Voldemort said, his eyes darting between her and Snape with what could have been suspicion. Slowly, he crossed the hall towards them. "Good to see that you two are getting on so well."   
  
Wraith did not so much as glance at Snape. "We've discovered some common ground," she said simply, almost dismissively. "It's better than being at each other's throats anyway."   
  
"Most certainly," the Dark Lord said. He reached out and took hold of her arm. "We must speak, pet." The hard tone of his voice did not bode well, but Wraith allowed no trace of her dread break through. Instead, she simply nodded and allowed him to lead her away.   
  
At the stairs, she finally turned her head slightly to meet Snape's eyes. Only for him did she reveal her fear, though they both knew he could do nothing against it.   
  
Voldemort took Wraith up to her rooms and released her arm rather roughly. Wraith stumbled slightly and he saw the flash of prideful insult in her crystal eyes. It pleased him to see it.   
  
She stood, facing him, her head tilted at an almost regal angle. "What did you want to speak of?" she asked, her tone rather demanding.   
  
"What do you think?" he asked in turn, tilting his head.   
  
Wraith all but glared at him, the uneasiness and embarrassment she felt slithering under her skin. Finally, she turned away. "Is there really anything to discuss?" she asked cuttingly, crossing to the windows and watching the darkening sky.   
  
"Oh, I'd say so," Voldemort said, watching her intently.   
  
"Have you come then to finish what you started?" she asked.   
  
"No."   
  
Wraith's head snapped around, the surprise and uncertainty clear in her eyes. "Then why have you come?" she demanded.   
  
"You are so cold to me, my pet," Voldemort commented, smiling slightly.   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed before she turned away again. "Perhaps, my Lord, it has occurred to you that I resent your attentions and your subsequent absences," she said with a slight snarl, glancing back at him, "Every time we become too close for  _your_  comfort, you leave me dangling on that thread." She tilted her head to match his. "It becomes a little frustrating."   
  
"And what would you suggest as a solution?"   
  
"You  _could_  tell me what it is you want," Wraith snapped, stalking back to him, her hands clenched at her sides.   
  
Voldemort considered her and then reached out to touch her hair. He was rewarded by her soft hiss and the way she twisted away from his hand. "It would be easier," he told her, "to tell you what I don't want."   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed again, but she considered him in turn. "And what is that?"   
  
"I do not want you to become my weakness," Voldemort said, all trace of his sardonic smile gone.   
  
"Is  _that_  what I am?" Wraith said, scowling.   
  
"It is what you could be," Voldemort said, holding up his hands in a slight shrugging gesture. "You must understand, pet, that in that moment that the Mark burned us both…I was very tempted to ignore it, Potter or no Potter."   
  
Wraith stared at him, eyes wide with shock.   
  
"And that," Voldemort said, "is the kind of thought that would be my failing."   
  
The anger and insult seemed to drain away from her. "So we abandon that path, then?" she asked softly.   
  
"For now," Voldemort said. "Are you disappointed, my pet?"   
  
She sighed and lifted her eyes to his. "My Lord, I am whatever you need me to be," she told him, "All I want to know is what that is. I don't like walking blind around you. You muddle things enough as it is."   
  
" _I_  muddle things?" Voldemort repeated incredulously, though he was clearly amused.   
  
"You muddle," Wraith said, smirking, "and you meddle." She reached up and touched her hand to his chin. "That's why we get along so well," she told him, "We've that in common."   
  
Voldemort laughed shortly and took hold of her hand.  "What a formidable wife you will someday make."   
  
Wraith gave him a dark Cheshire grin. "And any man you would marry me off to would have to understand that I am no man's servant…. but yours, of course."   
  
"My proud little pet," Voldemort murmured, dropping her hand. "I must return to the Manor," he told her, turning slightly towards the door.   
  
"I will walk you out," she said gently.   
  
They walked together down to the entrance hall. "I wonder," Voldemort said, glancing at the door that Wraith and Snape had been heading to when he'd arrived, "if perhaps I shouldn't offer you to Severus as a wife?"    
  
Wraith laughed in delighted humor. "He wouldn't have me," she told her Lord plainly with a grinning mouth.   
  
"And why wouldn't he?" Voldemort demanded, not sharing her amusement.   
  
"My Lord, my age does not seem to bother you, but knowing Severus? It would greatly bother him," she said, still smiling. "I'm young enough to be his daughter."   
  
"I don't consider your age," Voldemort said, a little surprised, "You're far older than it."   
  
"Oh, and I thank you for that," Wraith said, beaming. "But the fact remains, my Lord, that I am only eighteen." She raised a single brow. "If anyone dared, you  _could_  be called a lecher."   
  
"It is August," Voldemort said, his tone suddenly distracted. "You're almost nineteen."   
  
"I'd forgotten," Wraith said honestly as they reached the front doors.   
  
For a moment of silence, they stood at the top of the steps, staring out at the night that had fallen around the castle.   
  
"I will return to see you again," Voldemort told her, "Though I am not sure when."   
  
"I will wait," she replied gently, looking up at him.   
  
Voldemort touched hand to her hair before he started down the steps. Wraith waited until he had reached the gates and Disapparated before she turned and went back inside the castle.   
  
She started up the stairs, almost overwhelmed by the sense of relief and freedom she suddenly felt. She reached the top of the winding stair and paused, frowning as she tried to examine her own feelings.   
  
 _Just how much of it was my fear and how much is because I'm in love with someone else?_    
  
Even as the thought occurred to her, Wraith felt her heart constrict painfully within her chest. She fell against the wall, a hand pressed over her heart, not entirely sure that it was beating beneath her palm.   
  
" _Oh, god_ ," she breathed. "Oh,  _no_."   
  
"Wraith?" Snape called out as he hurried up the stairs to meet her. "What did our Lord want?" He saw her pale face and wide eyes and immediately reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. "Wraith, are you alright?"   
  
"I'm fine," Wraith said quickly, shaking her head. She stepped away from his touch and ran a shaking hand through her hair. "I'm fine," she repeated, more steadily. "I just…had a scary thought."   
  
Snape studied her carefully. "Would this scary thought have something to do with your secret in the forest?"   
  
"Everything to do with it," Wraith whispered, turning her eyes away.   
  
"Does the Dark Lord––?"   
  
"He knows nothing," Wraith assured him. "He came to make things clear between us."   
  
"And?" Snape prompted impatiently.   
  
"He doesn't want me to become a weakness," Wraith said, a small and almost evil smile coming to her lips, "He's going to leave me alone."   
  
"And you are relieved?" Snape asked, raising a brow at her.   
  
"You've no idea," Wraith said dryly. She sighed. "I know I promised you a chess match, Severus, but I don't think I'm up for it now."   
  
"I understand," Snape said, nodding his head. "Another time."   
  
"Thank you, Severus," Wraith said, genuinely grateful. "I'll see you in the morning," she told him, turning away.   
  
  
  
  
The next morning, Wraith woke early and immediately headed out to the forest. She wore another short dress, though it was her usual black rather than a lighter color.   
  
She felt something she hadn't for weeks as she started into the forest. She felt afraid. But she kept it buried in her heart, where she now realized that love burned as well. It was impossible and despite knowing it, it was terribly wonderful as well.   
  
Edwin was already waiting for her in their grove and when he lifted his face to see her, she saw nothing but his bright smile. "Good morning," he said, climbing to his feet so that he could meet her halfway. He touched her cheek and she smiled at the touch.   
  
"Good morning," she replied.   
  
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pale blue flower, slipping it into her hair. "Are you alright?" he asked, running his hand down her arm in a comforting gesture.   
  
"I'm alright," she assured him, leaning into him slightly, "I just didn't sleep all that long last night."   
  
"Why not?" Edwin asked.   
  
"I was up reading late," she told him with a smile. "You were right, I did like the play. Will you bring me another?"   
  
"Of course," Edwin said, grinning.   
  
Wraith looked up at him and felt her heart melt. "Let's go to the heather field," she suggested, taking his hand.   
  
"Sounds good," Edwin said, following her lead.   
  
They walked quietly beside each other until they'd reached the field. With a soft and happy sigh, Wraith let go of Edwin's hand and laid herself out in the flowers. She stared up at the bright blue sky above and felt herself smile. She reached up her hand towards Edwin. He knelt, taking her hand as he lay beside her. Together, their hands entwined, they looked up at the sky, watching the white clouds drift lazily above them.   
  
"I could stay like this forever," Edwin murmured, turning his head to touch with hers.   
  
"I could stay with you," Wraith murmured in return, though the wish made her heart ache.   
  
Edwin smiled at her, though her eyes were closed and she did not see. He leaned his head to gently kiss her bare shoulder. Wraith sighed at the sweet gesture and opened her eyes.   
  
"I've broken that arm, you know," she told him.   
  
Edwin raised an eyebrow at her and touched the arm in question. "When?"   
  
"Hm, let me think," she said, closing her eyes again, "A little more than three months ago."   
  
"You're joking?"   
  
"Nope," Wraith said with an amused smile. "It was healed in a day, though the scar remained a few days after." She laughed at Edwin's shocked face. "I heal, remember? It's really only bones that take long."   
  
"You've broken bones before?"   
  
"My other arm, for one," she told him, "Though it was a bullet that did that one."   
  
"A bullet," Edwin repeated dryly. Wraith did not reply, only smirked at his amazement. Something darkened Edwin's face as he touched her arm again. "This one, though…that happened at Tzadik's, didn't it? That's why you came here to recover."   
  
"Yes," Wraith said simply.   
  
"What happened there?" Edwin asked.   
  
Wraith frowned slightly as she sat up. "You don't know?" she demanded.   
  
Edwin sat up as well, staring at her without understanding. "Why would I know?" he asked in turn.   
  
"Edwin, it was a member of your Order that set the trap."   
  
" _What_?" Edwin was suddenly on his feet, his hands clenched into fists.   
  
Wraith stared up at him in amazement. "You didn't know," she murmured, stunned by his anger.   
  
"Of  _course_  not!" Edwin said sharply. He took a steadying breath. "What happened?" he asked again.   
  
Wraith hesitated, looking up at him. "It was a trap," she said softly, "There was a spell tied around Tzadik. When he died, the building collapsed."   
  
"Do you know who it was?" he asked her, his tone serious.   
  
"…Meadows," Wraith told him, "Nicole Meadows. The Dark Lord recognized her." She slowly got to her feet and laid a gentle hand on Edwin's arm. "She did it on her own," she said, coming to the realization, "The Order had nothing to do with it, did they?"   
  
"We don't  _do_  things like that," Edwin said, his tone still sharp. "Scum as Tzadik was, we don't use human sacrifices to meet out ends."   
  
"It's what separates you from your enemy," Wraith said softly.   
  
"Meadows is a problem," Edwin said slowly, scowling, "I just didn't realize how much of one."   
  
Wraith moved her hand up to his cheek and stood close, resting her head on his shoulder. Edwin felt the anger drain out of him at her touch and wrapped his arms around her. Wraith lifted her head and kissed the corner of his mouth, making him smile. "Sit with me again," she said, "Let's change the subject."   
  
"Gladly," Edwin said, sitting with her among the flowers again.   
  
He looked at her a moment and the flower she still had in her hair. Then he moved forward, pressing his lips to hers. Gently, they fell back to lie on the ground. Wraith brushed her hand through his hair, her lips parting beneath his in invitation. Edwin let out a soft sound, falling deeper into her kiss. He smelled of the heather around them and of sun. She loved the scent of him, the taste.   
  
 _So this is wanting_ , Wraith thought hazily, a thrill running under her skin.  _This is what I was missing._  
  
Edwin pulled away first, smiling down at her. Wraith smiled back, brushing a strand of golden hair from his face.   
  
"This is dangerous ground," he murmured, his hand running down her side.   
  
" _Very_  dangerous," Wraith agreed. With a sigh, she sat up, gently pushing him away. "I should go back before Severus wakes," she said unwillingly.   
  
"Probably for the best," Edwin said with a sheepish grin.   
  
With a small laugh at the blush on his cheeks, Wraith got to her feet once more, dusting the pollen from the heather from her skirt. She touched a hand to the flower in her hair as she waited for Edwin to stand as well. "I'm going to put this one in  _As You Like It_ ," she told him.   
  
"I'll bring you another play tomorrow," he promised.   
  
She took a step towards him and kissed him gently. "I'll see you then," she promised in return.


	19. Dangerous Ground

_"Our greatest pretenses are built up not to hide the evil and the ugly in us, but our emptiness. The hardest thing to hide is something that is not there."_  
  
  
  
  
Rather late the next night, Edwin was surprised to hear Alexis's soft footsteps coming up the stairs to his apartment above the bookshop. It was not often that he and Alex invaded one another's space after midnight––unless something was wrong. He reached the door before she'd had the chance to knock.   
  
"Alex? What's wrong?" he asked once he saw her face.   
  
The light from the single candle behind him glinted off of her glasses. "McGonagall's here," she said softly, "she says that she needs to talk to you."   
  
"Oh," Edwin said, blinking, "…Crap." He moved past Alexis to start down the stairs.   
  
"Edwin, what's going on?" Alex asked in an undertone as they went downstairs.   
  
"I'm not entirely sure," Edwin replied, "But I've a pretty good idea. I just hope that McGonagall's not sending me off."   
  
"Could it have something to do with Clara?"   
  
"No," Edwin said, stopping so that he could turn and face her. "Clara's fine, she's safe at  _La Magia_."   
  
Alexis let out a breath and together they entered the dark shop below. McGonagall stood near the counter, lighting a couple of candles. Edwin took a breath, but then he scowled at the sight of the person standing behind his former teacher.   
  
Nicole Meadows gave him a small and bitter smile as he and Alexis approached.   
  
"Evening, Professor," Edwin said, keeping his tone light. "What's this about?"   
  
"There is something very serious that we need to discuss, Mr. Rowle," McGonagall replied gravely.   
  
"You were followed," Alex piped in. Every eye turned to her, but she stood straight. "I didn't hear anything else, but I caught that much." She turned her own sharp eyes to Meadows. "Don't you have better things to do than spy on your comrades?"   
  
"That depends on whether or not he's actually with us," Meadows retorted, her eyes narrowed as they fell on Edwin.   
  
"Rowle," McGonagall said, bringing everyone's attention back to her. "Is what Meadows saw true? Have you been meeting with the Wraith?"   
  
Edwin met her eyes squarely. "Yes."   
  
Meadows let out a little sound of triumph, but McGonagall simply sighed and pressed a hand to the bridge of her nose. "Edwin Rowle, are you _mad_?" she asked tiredly. "Don't you understand how dangerous she is?"   
  
"McGonagall, have you forgotten the reason I'm still standing here?" Edwin demanded in return. "She didn't kill me at the safe-house and she won't kill me now."   
  
"But do you even know why she's meeting you?" McGonagall asked him plainly. "Rowle, for all we know, she could be plucking secrets of the Order from your mind without your knowledge."   
  
"She's not," Edwin snapped. "Professor, don't act like there's nothing more to her than Lady Death. You know better and so do I."   
  
"More to her or no, Rowle, she is still the Dark Lord's most loyal servant," McGonagall reminded him.   
  
"Why are we still talking about this?" Meadows demanded, pushing forward. "He's admitted to secret meetings with the Wraith. He's a traitor."  
  
"I am no traitor," Edwin said slowly and clearly, his fury burning under his skin.   
  
"Then prove it," Meadows snapped at him, "Bring us the Wraith so we can end the threat."   
  
Edwin stared at her. "…and McGonagall called  _me_  mad. Ha."   
  
Meadows's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do you get how much trouble you're in?" she hissed.   
  
"Do you?" Edwin retorted, stepping towards her. "I know about you and Tzadik,  _Nicole_ ," he said sharply. "I know that you were behind that little trick that cost a man his life. Wraith knows it too, and what's more––so does You-Know-Who."   
  
"Oh, Nicole," McGonagall said softly, "You didn't…"   
  
"I did what had to be done," Nicole snapped, turning to face McGonagall. "At least  _I_  was willing to do  _something_!"   
  
"Get out," Edwin told her. "You are not welcome in my home or business. Get out."   
  
Meadows glared at him, but when she got no support from McGonagall, she turned on her heel and stormed out.   
  
With a very tired sigh, McGonagall looked to Edwin. "Rowle, you risk a great deal. I can't allow you to––"   
  
"You can't stop me from seeing her," Edwin said softly, urgently. "You won't."   
  
He felt Alexis slip her hand into his.   
  
"You and Meadows aren't looking at this right," Alexis said bitingly. "You're acting like Edwin's done this horrid traitorous thing by meeting her…but what about the Wraith, hm? She's part of this equation too. Hasn't it occurred to you that  _she_  is betraying You-Know-Who by meeting Edwin in secret?"   
  
McGonagall looked at Alex in what could have been surprise. The girl had never joined the Order, had seemed to prefer the quiet life she had in Hogsmeade––but that didn't mean the girl didn't have an interest in the war.   
  
Edwin glanced at Alexis in gratitude before he turned back to McGonagall. "…Wraith has spent the last half a year trying to kill herself," he said quietly. "That's how much she hates what she is. But she has a respite now at Hogwarts. She's there to recover her strength and doesn't have to play the role of Lady Death. Every day, I see her smile a little more. I see more of the  _real_  Wraith every time that I meet her out there in the forest."   
  
"Edwin…"   
  
"She is  _eighteen_  years old," Edwin snapped. "And all of her life, she's only known that she's supposed to serve him. I have a chance to change her mind––and I  _will_  take it."   
  
McGonagall considered him and the hard, unwavering glare in his eyes. "Give me a day," she said gently, "Just a day to calm Nicole down before she chooses to share this information with anyone who will hear her out."   
  
Edwin scowled, but paused as Alexis squeezed his hand. "…Fine," he said. "One day. That's all I'll give."   
  
McGonagall nodded once and then left the store. Alexis crossed to lock it behind her and then turned back to her oldest friend.   
  
"You're crazy," she said lightly.   
  
"I know," Edwin replied blandly.       
  
Alexis leaned back against the counter beside him and smiled crookedly. "So are you going to tell me about her?"  
  
Edwin smiled slightly. "She loves to read. I've been taking her Shakespeare. She'd never heard of him before. She plays the piano, but I haven't gotten a chance to hear her. Sometimes she hums under her breath while she's reading; I'd love to hear her sing someday.  
  
"I'm in love with her," Edwin said softly.   
  
Alex looked at him and touched a hand to his shoulder. "I know," she said. "I could see it in your face when you were talking to McGonagall. Does she love you back?"  
  
"I don't know," Edwin said, shaking his head, "God, Aly, when did this all become so bloody complicated?"  
  
"War has a tendency to do that," Alex murmured.   
  
  
  
  
 _Her hands were tied behind her back at a painful angle. It was the first thing she realized––Her legs were also bound together–– The panic of a caged bird left her breathless––She would have screamed but for the gag over her mouth––She felt silent tears of fear and fury course down her face––All was shadow––She could not even see her captors' faces––Faces––There was more than one––She struggled when they lifted her up––Pain, distant and numbing––The scent of blood––Blood and roses––The scent of blood and roses overwhelmed her––A terrible pain in her heart––Why was he doing this?––The glint of silver as the blade pierced her arm––_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith woke with a strangled cry, bolting upright in her bed. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, committing the dream to her memory. She had had the dream before…she was certain of it.   
  
Unable to rest any longer, Wraith slipped out of bed and snatched up her dressing gown. Barefoot, she hurried out of her rooms and down the twisting halls until she came to the gargoyle that guarded Snape's office. With a touch of her hand, the gargoyle leapt aside and she was able to hurry up the revolving steps.   
  
Only when she reached the door at the top did she hesitate. With a breath, she lifted a hand to knock on the door. She waited in the silence that followed. After a moment, she could hear someone's footsteps beyond.   
  
Snape opened the door, frowning down at her, his dark eyes clouded by sleep and irritation. "Wraith? It is two in the morning. What's happened?"   
  
"I'm sorry for waking you," she told him.   
  
Snape blinked at her and then the irritation cleared somewhat. "You had a nightmare."   
  
"Yes," Wraith said simply. "Severus, what is the date?"   
  
"As of midnight, it is the thirteenth," he replied. "You're thinking of the nightmare you had a year ago. The one that made you scream so."   
  
"It was the same dream," Wraith said, "It was different this time, it's clearer in my memory."   
  
Snape glanced over his shoulder and the jerked the door open wider. "Come in," he said shortly.   
  
"I'm sorry," Wraith said again as she passed him, "But I couldn't sleep again." She lifted curious eyes to the portraits hanging around the circular room, each inhabitant sleeping. Her eyes fell upon the largest portrait behind the desk. "God, that must be comforting," she muttered dryly.   
  
"You've no idea," Snape replied, touching a hand to her back and leading her to the chair in front of the desk. "They do not often wake without my prompting," he clarified. He took the chair behind the desk and considered her once more. "Will you tell me what you saw?"   
  
"Shadow," she said softly, "I couldn't  _see_  anything, but…I  _knew_  things despite it. There were things that I felt." She rubbed her wrist in an unconscious gesture. "My hands were tied behind my back," she said slowly, "My legs were bound as well, at the ankle. I couldn't move. There was a gag over my mouth. I couldn't see the ones who had taken me."   
  
She lifted her head and met Snape's eyes. He saw a hard sort of gleam in hers. "Because that is what was happening, Severus. I was  _taken_. From where or to where I have no idea." She lowered her head again and closed her eyes, trying to remember the rest. "There were two kidnappers––I know that much. They lifted me up, one at my shoulders, one at my legs. I struggled and there was this...bright flash of pain. I could smell blood and I knew it was mine. Then I could smell roses. I couldn't breathe but the scent of blood and roses."   
  
She fell silent and Snape leaned forward. "Was that all you saw?" he prompted gently.   
  
"Silver of a blade," she whispered, her eyes still closed. With a frustrated sigh, she opened her eyes and glared at nothing in particular. "There was more, just a little more, but I can't…I can't make it clear."   
  
"Don't push yourself," Snape told her. "What you have is far more than you've had before."   
  
"What do you suppose it is, though?" Wraith asked, sitting back in her chair. "The same dream on the same date of the year?" She looked at him sharply. "Could it be a premonition of some kind?"   
  
"I don't know," Snape said honestly. "Wraith, your powers are so  _very_  different from mine that I wouldn't even know where to begin to unravel them."   
  
" _He_  knows," Wraith murmured bitterly.   
  
Snape reached across the desk to touch his hand to hers. The moment his skin touched hers, however, he jerked back. "Wraith, your  _skin_ …"   
  
Wraith held up her hand, eyes narrowed. Her skin, as Snape had felt, was fever bright, almost too hot to touch at all.   
  
"… _That_  is what tells me that this was more than a dream. This is the same kind of fever that affects me when the Dark Lord takes too much power, or when I overextend myself. This dream, this nightmare, whatever it is––It's tied to my magic."   
  
Snape stared at her as he began to understand. "Last year, you also had the fever."   
  
"And I had one after that nightmare in June," she told him. "Severus, this is the first nightmare I've had  _since_  June. It's as if August is the beginning of something…and June the end. And now it's begun all again."   
  
Those words put a chill under Snape's skin. He shook his head as if to clear it.  
  
"Wraith, I've a question."   
  
"Yes?"   
  
"About the nightmare you had last year," he clarified, "I was with the Dark Lord at the time. A moment––only a moment––before you screamed, the Dark Lord seemed to sense something."   
  
"Of course he did," Wraith said blandly. "Haven't I just said, Severus? The dreams call upon my power. I had been acting oddly all day; the Dark Lord was watching me for carefully, the link between us fully open. What he must have sensed was the pull upon my magic. That would have told him far better than a scream that there was something wrong with me."   
  
"So he wouldn't have sensed this one or the one in June?"   
  
"Unlikely," Wraith said, "Especially since he's said nothing to you." With a tired sigh, Wraith stood. "I don't think I'm going to get any more sleep tonight," she said, "I going down to the library to see what there is on interpreting dreams. Maybe I can find something that relates."   
  
Snape stood as well and walked over with her to the door. "I will be here if you need to speak again," he told her.   
  
"Thank you…Severus," Wraith said, looking at him. She smiled just slightly before she took her leave.   
  
"You don't think that it's a premonition."   
  
Snape turned to face Dumbledore, his face grave. "No," he said, "I don't." He started up the stairs that led to his room. "When Wraith has left the library, I'll conduct my own search––on reincarnation."


	20. Bloodstains

_"For aught that I could ever read,  
Could ever hear by tale or history,  
The course of true love never did run smooth."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith remained in the library, scouring the shelves until dawn touched the sky. It was only when she saw the weak sunlight fall across the book in her hand that she even realized it. Her eyes felt heavy and gritty from her lack of sleep, but before she even thought of resting, she had one last thing to do. She returned to her rooms only long enough to properly dress, and then she hurried down across the grounds to the forest.   
  
But as she walked through the trees, she felt something was different, almost wrong. It was with slight trepidation that she reached her and Edwin's chosen grove––and she found it empty.   
  
She waited a few minutes in silence, with each passing second weighing heavily upon her.   
  
"Edwin?" she called out when she could stand the silence no more. " _Edwin_?"   
  
She could hear the strain in her own voice as she called his name. Why wasn't he there? When she felt that needed him most?   
  
She spun at the sound of a footfall upon a fallen branch.   
  
"…Edwin?" she called again, more softly.   
  
No reply came.   
  
On the edge of real fear, Wraith started back to the castle. Every now and then she would pause, listening intently to every sound around her. But she heard no more footsteps. She wondered as she crossed the grounds if she had imagined the first and only.   
  
When she stepped inside the castle, she felt her weariness overwhelm her. With slow and heavy footsteps, she made her way up the twisting stairs to her rooms and promptly collapsed upon her bed, fully dressed, and slid into a deep and unrelenting sleep. She was grateful that she slept without dreaming.   
  
It was mid-afternoon before she woke again and her spirits had not improved. She felt the slight frown upon her face and thought that it would take a miracle to remove it. She rose with difficulty from her bed and for a little while, she curled up in the window-seat with the last play that Edwin had brought her, another comedy entitled  _Twelfth Night_. She found herself quietly reading passages aloud to herself, as if to commit them to memory.  
  
" _'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white  
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:   
Lady, you are the cruelest she alive  
If you will lead these graces to the grave  
And leave the world no copy_."  
  
" _Twelfth Night_ , isn't it?" Snape said from her open doorway.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, not looking up.   
  
"Another gift from your secret in the forest?" Snape asked, raising a brow. He was surprised when she did not give him the coy and secretive smile he'd become accustomed to. Instead, she simply closed the book and frowned out the window. "Have you slept at all?" Snape asked her.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said again, in very nearly the same tone. She glanced at him, still standing at the threshold. "My mind is heavy," she murmured, "I don't suppose you'd mind distracting me with a game of chess?"   
  
"Certainly," Snape replied with a nod. He held out a hand and beckoned, "Come."   
  
Wraith set the book aside and stood. Snape saw her glance just once at the little book with something that might have been doubt before she crossed the room to him.  
  
They went down in silence to the little room where the chess board waited. Wraith barely spoke as they played, her eyes stayed glued to the board. Snape assumed correctly that the girl did not have a wish for conversation and remained quiet as well.   
  
Halfway through the game, Snape noticed that she would glance out the window towards the forest now and again, as if waiting for something. His first thought was that perhaps the girl and Rowle had had some sort of argument. But it was not anger or sadness in Wraith's eyes. It was concern.   
  
Snape was shocked when he realized that he had her king in check. He glanced at her, wondering how she would put her king out of danger. "Check," he said, bringing her eyes from the window to him.   
  
Wraith looked sharply down at the board and a flash of puzzlement crossed her face. "Oh, bollocks," she muttered.   
  
Snape quickly turned his laugh into a cough as the girl glared at him.   
  
Wraith studied the board, where each piece was and where they could be moved. Then she let out a huffing sigh and touched a slender finger to her king. With a gentle nudge, she toppled it. She glared daggers at Snape.   
  
"It's only because I was distracted," she insisted.   
  
"Whatever makes you feel better, child," Snape said dryly. "Would you like another game so that you can prove your point?"  
  
Wraith opened her mouth to no doubt reply sharply. But then she seemed to hesitate, her eyes drifting towards the window again. "No," she said softly. "I don't think I'm up for another game." She stood with a small sigh. "Thank you, Severus."  
  
He watched her go, a slight frown upon his face.   
  
  
  
  
When night began to fall, Wraith wandered out of doors again, walking along the edge of the lake. She could hear the great dog, Fang, barking madly when she ventured anywhere near the gamekeeper's hut, but she resolutely ignored it.   
  
The sky was overcast, hiding stars from sight, and Wraith felt as if they mirrored her own mind. She felt clouded and out of sorts. She hadn't realized that she'd come to depend on Edwin's visits so.   
  
Wraith knew without a doubt, though the very thought frightened her to death, that she loved him. She had loved before. What she'd felt for Janesch had most certainly been love. But this was different, deeper somehow.   
  
When Janesch came to her mind she could not help but wonder where her vampire friend was, whether or not he was still in the country or if he had returned to France after his secret meeting with Snape. Her heart ached when she thought of their last meeting.   
  
 _Please_ , she thought desperately,  _please don't let that be my last memory of him. It's been more than eight months…surely he'll come back to me someday?_  
  
Wraith sighed, wrapping her arms tightly across her chest as a bitter wind drifted across the lake to meet her. She turned, intending to go back up to the castle and to her own rooms. An errant thought of something warm and sweet to drink crossed her mind and made her smile just slightly.   
  
But the smile was gone in a flash as her eyes passed over the shadowed trees of the forest. Wraith had thought, for just a moment, that she had seen movement beneath them. She glanced up at the castle and saw the light in the tower that was Snape's office. As she watched, she saw his shadow pass in front of it. So it was not Snape in the woods then, though why should he venture there anyway? And she knew that the gamekeeper was in his hut, she'd heard him scold the dog more than once since she'd ventured outside. So who else would it be in the lonely corner of her world?   
  
Thinking only of Edwin, she started towards the forest, without a thought of the coming night.  _Perhaps he was only delayed this morning_ , she thought as she passed into the trees.  _Maybe he's waiting for me now, just in case…_  
  
Though her night-vision had always been good, growing up in a dark cell as she had, she found the encompassing darkness of the forest at night a difficult path to tread. So she walked slowly, her ears searching out every strange sound around her.   
  
The forest seemed to be more alive at night than day. Considering all that she had read about the creatures of the woods, this did not entirely surprise Wraith.   
  
She had come within feet of their grove when she heard the footsteps to the side of her. Her head snapped around and she froze. "…Edwin?" she called softly, "Is that you?"   
  
Silence was her only answer. But there was someone there, she was certain…Wraith took a few tentative steps towards the bushes to the side of the narrow path, every nerve in her body tensed. She was confident that she had recovered enough for small magicks, and feeling nervous as she was, she lifted a hand. A globe of pale blue fire floated above her open palm and cast its pale light over the dark leaves.   
  
Wraith heard a small  _click_  and froze once more. Peering into the bushes, she had one glimpse of the light glinting in a pair of pale cold eyes. Before she could react, she heard them whisper, " _Stupid girl_."   
  
Everything seemed to happen at once. There was a tremendous  _boom_  that shook Wraith's ears and made her deaf. She felt something hit her and she was pushed back by the force of it.   
  
Then came the pain.   
  
Wraith's vision went startling white and then black with the magnitude of it. She felt hot blood flood into her throat and she choked on it as she slipped to the ground. She lay there upon the cold hard ground, felt her blood slipping away from her to pool beneath her.   
  
Nicole Meadows stepped out from the bushes, the shotgun thrown over her shoulder. She smiled coldly down at Wraith's broken form. "I wonder," she said softly, not caring if Wraith could hear her or not, "I wonder what they'll call the one who killed the Lady Death?"   
  
She waited until Wraith fell still upon the ground before she turned on her heel and walked away from the bloody mess she had made.     
  
  
  
  
Edwin ran through the trees, and in the dark he felt the branches and barbs surrounding the path catch at his sleeves and draw blood. But he paid them no mind.   
  
He and Alex had both heard the gunshot from their shop. Dread filled his heart and gave him extraordinary speed, despite the dark. He could, distantly, hear Alexis stumbling along behind him, but he did not wait for her.   
  
She was vulnerable to Muggle guns––she'd all but told him so when she'd spoken of the time her arm had been broken. Nicole Meadows knew that too. The Order had learned it from Ethan Vaisey when he'd come to them for sanctuary. And Meadows was mad. Edwin had no doubt of that and he cursed himself for thinking her madness could be held in check by McGonagall and the other senior members of the Order.   
  
His heart lurched when he saw a cloaked figure on the path ahead of him. When they grew closer, a red rage covered Edwin's eyes at the sight of Meadows. She was carrying a shotgun on her shoulder.   
  
" _What have you done_?!" Edwin all but screamed at her.   
  
She swung the gun to point at him. "I did what was necessary," she hissed at him. "Don't waste your energy, Rowle. She'd dead."   
  
The words were spoken with such a dark and delightful glee. It snapped something within him.   
  
With a strangled yell, he launched himself at Meadows, his hands wrapping around the gun and twisting it away. Meadows clung to it and for a few desperate moments they fought for control of it.   
  
Finally, Edwin brought the butt of the gun up and hit Meadows sharply across the temple. He saw the dark glint of blood as she fell to the ground, half-conscious, and felt a grim sort of pleasure at the sight of it.   
  
Behind him, he heard Alexis approached as quickly as her feet could carry. She saw the shotgun in her friend's hands and gasped. "Edwin, what happened?" Her eyes fell upon Meadows and narrowed dangerously.   
  
"She shot her," Edwin said, his voice shaking so much that Alex had a hard time understanding him. When the words connected in her mind, Alexis gave a small horrified gasp.   
  
Meadows groaned, one hand going to the blood staining the side of her face. As she brought glazed eyes up towards Edwin, something almost inhuman came to them. She lunged at him with a snarl, grabbing for the gun still in his hands.   
  
But there was a loud  _bang_  and a flash of red light and she was thrown backwards, Stunned. Edwin and Alexis turned on the path to see McGonagall and Lupin coming towards them.   
  
"Professor," Alexis said breathlessly, "Professor McGonagall, Nicole shot the Wraith."   
  
"With this," Edwin said in a near whisper, holding up the shotgun.   
  
As if he'd suddenly realized what it was he held Edwin threw the gun to the ground with a cry of disgust. He took a step back from it––and then he was running down the path again, in the direction that Meadows had come from.   
  
"Edwin!" Alexis cried, but he did not answer. She looked to her former teachers and then the three of them took off after him.   
  
They did not catch up with him until they'd reached the little grove.   
  
Alexis felt her heart break at the soft sound that escaped Edwin's lips as he collapsed to his knees at the edge of the grove. She hurried to stand beside him and looked down, expecting for all the world that she would see the broken body of her friend's love.   
  
But instead she saw an empty pool of blood, black in the shadow of the forest.   
  
"…Edwin?" she whispered slowly, not sure if she believed her eyes. There was so much blood…   
  
"Look at the blood," Edwin whispered hoarsely, getting to his feet. He took out his wand and lit the end, casting a small circle of light on the path. " _Look at the blood_. She crawled away…and here," he said, following the path, "Here she stood up and kept going. She's alive." He said the words like a prayer. "Oh, god. She's alive."   
  
"Rowle," Lupin said, coming up behind them. The older man touched a hand to Edwin's shoulder, "Forgive me, but I  _can't_  see how anyone could survive losing this much  _blood_."   
  
" _She_  could," Edwin said, turning hot eyes to Lupin. "She's been shot, stabbed, and buried, and yet she lives. If she was alive when Meadows left her, then she'll be healing, no matter how serious the injury is."       
  
But the hard hope in his eyes faded and bleak despair filled them instead. He dropped his head, staring down at the blood upon the ground.   
  
"But now she'll never come back," he whispered, his throat tight. He gritted his teeth and his hands clenched at his sides as he tried to bite back the pain. "If she thinks that I had a part in this––I've lost her. She'll never trust me again."


	21. Wounded Heart

_"A wounded spirit who can bear?"_  
  
  
  
  
Snape had only just reached the front doors when one of them opened beneath his hand, pushing him back. Wraith slipped inside quickly, shutting the door behind her. She hurried past Snape, covered completely by her cloak and hood.   
  
"Wraith?" Snape called, "What happened?"   
  
"Nothing," she said breathlessly. Her voice sounded weak, strained, as if it were difficult for her to speak.   
  
"Don't lie to me," Snape said sharply, chasing after her. He reached out a hand towards her. "That was a Muggle gunshot I heard. What happened out––"   
  
He grabbed her right shoulder and Wraith let a deep and guttural sound of pain. Snape immediately released her, the sound hitting him dead in the gut. He lifted his hand and saw that his palm was coated in blood.   
  
As he looked back to her in shock, she slowly fell to her knees, gasping harshly with pain. He knelt beside her and caught her gently as she fell backwards. The right side of her face was splattered with thick drops of blood. That was the first thing he saw. As gently as he could, he undid the clasp of her cloak and pulled the cloth away from her.   
  
"Oh, my  _god_ ," Snape breathed.   
  
The bare skin of her shoulder was peppered with wounds, already half-closed. But where her shoulder met her neck, the flesh was all but stripped away. The side of her neck was an open wound. He could  _see_  how she struggled to breathe, saw the blood pumping itself out of her.  
  
Wraith inhaled deeply, her throat still choked with blood. " _Down_ ," she struggled to say.   
  
Snape understood her strangled request and gently laid her on the floor, her cloak acting as a barrier between her and the cold stone.   
  
"What…" Snape gasped, "What can I do?" he asked her, the helplessness of it taking his breath away.   
  
Wraith shook her head just slightly, " _Healing_ ," she breathed. " _Wait_."  
  
She was telling him that the wound would heal––it would just take time. Snape clenched and unclenched his hands in his powerlessness. Finally, he took her hand in his and held it tight. Wraith turned her head so that her cheek brushed his knee and she squeezed his hand tight.   
  
Snape saw the tears escape her eyes and brushed them away with his other hand. "You'll be alright," he murmured, though whether he was trying to convince her or himself, he was not sure. "You've been through worse, haven't you?"   
  
Wraith smiled weakly, though her eyes remained closed.   
  
Time seemed to move torturously slow, but eventually Snape could see the wounds closing. The smaller wounds on her shoulder disappeared first, leaving only the blood behind. But it was another hour there upon the cold stone floor that her neck finally healed itself. Every now and then, Snape would touch a cloth gently to her neck to clear away some of the blood and see how the wound was slowly closing.    
  
Wraith took a breath as the skin became whole again and her eyes fluttered open. "Ow."   
  
Snape gave and short and humorless laugh. He pulled her up into a sitting position and she fell to lean against him.   
  
"Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked softly.   
  
"No," Wraith replied in a whisper.   
  
"Do you not trust me?" Snape asked.   
  
"I trust you," Wraith said, leaning her cheek upon his shoulder, "But this secret I'll keep safe."   
  
"Was it your secret in the forest that did this to you?" he demanded.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith whispered in despair. For a moment she clung to him as she had on the Astronomy Tower, as if her heart were breaking. "I don't want to know," she said, her voice a little stronger. She pulled away slightly so that she could see his face. "I don't. I would rather let this secret die." She let out a breath. "Help me up?"   
  
Snape stood, still holding her hand and he helped her rise to her feet.   
  
"I was a fool," Wraith said softly, "to think that I could keep him anyway. It's better this way." She took a shaky step away from him and then another. "I'm going to take a bath––to clear away the blood. Then I think that I should rest, let the healing take."   
  
"Do you want me to walk you up?" Snape asked, already offering a hand.   
  
"No," Wraith said, "No, thank you."   
  
So Snape stood in the hall and watched her slowly climb the staircase alone. When he dropped his gaze to the floor, he could see the blood pooled there at his feet.    
  
  
  
  
Wraith sat in the shallow end of the grand bathtub, surrounded by nearly scalding water. For a long time, she simply remained still, the blood floating away from her skin in tendrils through the water.   
  
She could still hear those whispered words;  _Stupid girl_.   
  
"Stupid girl," she whispered aloud to her reflection in the water. "Stupid bloody fool is what you are. You are not a princess in a fairy story. There's no one out there who will save you."   
  
She let out a sobbing breath, felt the hot tears escape her eyes to track down her face.   
  
"There are no happy endings for people like you."   
  
She inhaled deeply and plunged under the water. It was only when her skin was clean that she surfaced again. Once more, she sat at the edge of the tub.   
  
Only then did she truly let herself cry.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith spent the next week in what Snape thought of as meditative silence. Phineas reported that the girl did not seem to cry or even sulk, as he'd half expected, over what she had lost. She was simply…quiet.   
  
Phineas told him that the only real sign of mourning the girl displayed was when she would take out the books that Rowle had given her. She did not read them, only held, occasionally running gentle fingers over the pressed flowers within them.   
  
"Are you going to find out whether or not that boy had a hand in the attack?" Phineas demanded of him one night.   
  
"No," Snape said, though he'd sincerely considered it. "I told her that she could keep her secret. I'd rather not reveal to her that I, in essence, betrayed her trust."   
  
"She would forgive you, I think," Dumbledore said.   
  
Snape made a small noncommittal noise and stood, crossing to the window. His eyes focused upon the darkening forest. "In any case," he said softly, "The Order knows that she's here now, here at Hogwarts. The question is…what will they do with the information? Is the child vulnerable here?"   
  
Snape's train of thought was broken by the soft knock at the door. He glanced sharply at the portraits and they promptly pretended to sleep. Only then did Snape cross to the door and open it.   
  
Wraith stood in the doorway, small and fragile-seeming. She smiled wanly, "Severus."   
  
"Wraith," he said in reply. "Good to see you out."   
  
Her smile grew a little brighter. "I wondered if you would help me send a letter."   
  
"Certainly," he said, a touch of his surprise showing through. "I'll show you the Owlery," he told her. "Many of the school owls are still about."   
  
They started down the stairs, Snape leading. He glanced back at her as they reached the bottom and saw the envelope clutched in her hand. "May I ask who the letter is to?"   
  
"Janesch," Wraith said.   
  
"You miss him," Snape said.   
  
"Yes," she said. "I know he may not be able to see me, but I don't think there is any harm in writing to one another."   
  
"I wouldn't think so," Snape said.   
  
They reached the bottom of the tower which held the Owlery. Snape took her up the winding stairs in silence. Wraith let out a small gasp of surprise when they reached the top. The high rafters were all but empty compared to what it had been before, but there were at least twenty owls still about.   
  
Snape gestured one down and Wraith carefully attached her letter to the owl's leg.   
  
"I don't know where he is," Wraith confessed softly.   
  
"The owl will find him," Snape assured her. "Do you think that he's returned to France?"   
  
"Unless something has kept him here," Wraith said, shrugging. She petted the owl's feathered head and it gave a soft hoot of appreciation. Wraith let him go and he flew out into the open air. "Severus," Wraith said softly, "Do you remember that I had an owl at the Manor?"   
  
"Yes," he said after a moment's thought, "You had mentioned it."   
  
"I just wondered…" Wraith began hesitantly, still staring out into the night sky, "I mean, I've no idea if he's still on the grounds. I did not cage him––But…"   
  
"You would like me to see if he's still there?" Snape asked, "Perhaps bring him back here to you?"   
  
"Would you?" she asked, turning to face him.   
  
"Certainly," he replied again. "The only question is how I would get the owl to come to me, should I find him."   
  
"Here," Wraith said, holding out a hand. Snape took it in his and felt a quick jolt. "He'll come to you," Wraith told him with certainty.   
  
He could not help but frown at her. "Should you be using your magicks?"  
  
"Small magicks don't worry me," Wraith said. "I am almost fully recovered, Severus." A shadow crossed her face. "I don't think the Dark Lord will keep me here all that much longer."  
  
"Ah." He did not know what else to say.   
  
"Severus, thank you."   
  
"Thank me when I find the owl," he told her.      
  
  
  
  
Snape Apparated to the very edge of the Manor grounds, not wanting to get any closer to the building as he could help. He started towards the woods, wondering just how the little spell Wraith had created would work.   
  
His answer came when he heard a soft hoot over his head. The dark little owl flew down from one of the trees towards him. Snape held out an arm and the owl landed lightly upon it.   
  
"Clever girl," Snape murmured. "Come on then, owl," he said to the creature. He conjured a cage and the bird allowed itself to be gently placed within. "Let's take you to your owner."   
  
For just a moment, Snape remained where he was, staring up at the grand Manor. He wondered if the Dark Lord was within its walls or travelling elsewhere. He knew, as the Wraith knew, that their Lord was looking for something that he had confessed to no one. The search had been constantly put on hold the past year, due in large part to the rebellion within his own ranks. But what would stop Lord Voldemort from continuing his secret search now?   
  
With a frown, Snape turned away from the building and Disapparated.   
  
To his surprise, Wraith was waiting at the gates for him. A bright and happy smile lit her wane face when she saw the owl.   
  
"Oh, Severus,  _thank you_."   
  
Snape passed her the cage and raised an eyebrow when the girl immediately opened it. She held up her arm and the little owl hopped out onto her sleeve.   
  
"Hello, Hesper," she whispered to the bird, "Have you missed me?" The owl hooted and leaned into her hand when she reached the pet him. "Do you think he'd like the Owlery?" she asked Snape.   
  
"I think so, yes," Snape said. "He would be free to come and go there with the rest."   
  
"I'll take him up there then," Wraith said, starting up the path. She paused when she realized Snape hadn't moved. "Severus?"   
  
"Are you alright?" he asked her quietly.   
  
She hesitated, for his tone told her that he wanted a real answer and not a platitude. "…I think so," she said softly. "I  _will_  be, if nothing else. Besides, now I have Hesper to help me." She looked from the owl to Snape and then smiled softly. "And I have you."   
  
That smile gave Snape an odd, rather familiar feeling. For just a moment, his heart lurched as he was reminded of Lily. How long had it been since someone had actually considered him a friend? And to his discomfort, he felt a stirring of guilt as well. Would it break her to learn where his loyalty actually rested? He prayed that she would never have to know.   
  
  
  
  
"Janesch?" a voice called softly in the darkness. A hand reached out to shake the vampire's shoulder gently. "Come on, lazy bones. You've a letter."   
  
Janesch groaned and rolled over. "Lover, it is barely sunset. Could you not let me rest a little longer?"   
  
"I would have," the young man said with a smirk, "But for this."   
  
He held up the letter to let Janesch see the delicate handwriting upon the envelope. In a flash, Janesch was sitting up and grabbing for it.   
  
" _Mon Dieu_ ," he murmured, "My little ghost." He read the letter quickly and made a small sound of sadness.   
  
"Jan?" His lover sat on the bed next to him. Their relationship was so very new that he was unsure of how to comfort the vampire, or even if he should.   
  
"Tis nothing," Janesch said, shaking his head. "My dear little ghost was hurt…but she writes that she is healing.  _Ma pauvre bébé_."   
  
"Will you reply?" his lover asked.   
  
"I truly must," the vampire said. "I cannot be near her, not yet, but I'll be damned if I don't answer this call for friendship."   
  
He smirked just slightly and the look that suddenly came to his eyes had his young lover blushing. "Well, it isn't as though I'm not damned already."   
  
He folded the letter and set it gently aside on the dresser before he turned his attention elsewhere.


	22. Swift Time

_"Happy the man, and happy he alone,  
He, who can call to-day his own:  
He who, secure within, can say,  
To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived today."_  
  
  
  
  
When Snape returned to his office, Dumbledore noted his thoughtful frown.   
  
"Where did you go off to, Headmaster?" Phineas asked.   
  
"Wraith asked a favor of me," Snape said, "She wanted that owl she'd captured back at the Manor."   
  
"Who was the letter for?" Phineas asked then, "The one she wanted to send?"   
  
"The vampire Vivaldi," Snape replied. He took his chair and tapped his fingers upon the hard surface of the desk. "For her sake, I hope that he answers."   
  
"Professor Snape!" cried the portrait of Dilys Derwent as she came back into her frame. "I've just come from my portrait at St. Mungo's," she said quickly. "A young woman was brought in tonight, escorted by several others. One was Minerva McGonagall! She was in disguise, but it was her."   
  
Snape quickly turned to the portrait, eyes narrowed. "And the girl?"   
  
"Nicole Meadows," Dilys Derwent replied. "They put her under a different name; no doubt a small attempt to keep the Dark Lord from finding her there."   
  
"Meadows," Snape murmured. "Oh, this could explain so very much."   
  
"Severus?"   
  
"It was Meadows who seemed to be behind the trap at Tzadik's," Snape reminded him. "The girl is far from sane…but she's also calculated… Minerva has met the girl, even been saved by her, she wouldn't have had the Wraith shot like this. But Meadows––well, we've seen the girl take things into her own hands before, with similar…  _messy_  results."   
  
"Severus, what are you thinking?" Dumbledore asked when Snape fell quiet for too long.   
  
"Dark thoughts, Dumbledore," Snape told him, his voice low, "Very dark thoughts. Half of me is very tempted…to tell the Dark Lord where Meadows is."   
  
Dumbledore said nothing at first, quite surprising Snape who had expected some sort of denial from the former Headmaster. Finally, the portrait spoke very softly. "…Does the girl mean so much to you?"   
  
Snape froze. "…Don't make this more than it is," he told Dumbledore, "don't you dare."   
  
In a swift motion, he had stood and crossed to the window before Dumbledore could speak. The silence that had fallen was thick with bitter feelings and old haunted memories. Not even Phineas seemed to dare break it.   
  
"…Why is it," Snape said softly, "that I am always on the wrong side of those who call me 'friend'?" He looked back to the portraits, his face twisted into a deep scowl. "She trusts me…and I am the very last person she should truly trust."   
  
"Severus––"   
  
"I keep her secrets, only because mine are far worse," he snapped, cutting the portrait off.   
  
"You like her," Dumbledore said, "Why is that so hard for you to admit, Severus?"   
  
"Because whether I like the girl or not, Dumbledore, the fact remains that we are on opposite sides of a war," Snape said bluntly, "and she can never know that. What sort of friendship do I offer her, Dumbledore? Where such a secret remains between us?"   
  
"Better than anything else either of you have," Dumbledore said gently.   
  
For that, Snape had no answer.  
  
  
  
  
Several days later, Snape found her in the music room once more. The now familiar tune of  _Greensleeves_  floated out into the hall, the melody greeting Snape before he entered the room. Wraith's fingers paused over the ivory keys when she heard him enter. He saw the small smile flash across her face as she turned to him.   
  
"Good afternoon, Severus," she said lightly.   
  
"Still playing that old tune?" he asked dryly.   
  
"It's still my favorite," Wraith said with a light shrug.   
  
"Well," Snape said, "in that case––here." He handed her the book he'd kept in his pocket.   
  
Surprise flashed across Wraith's face when she opened it to the first page.   
  
" _Greensleeves_ ," she read aloud, "It's…it's the poem! I've never seen it before!" She laughed softly in utter delight and touched a delicate hand to the page. Her other hand went back to the keys and she played the melody once more. Her voice was soft and tremulous as she murmured the words of the song.   
  
" _Alas, my love, you do me wrong,  
To cast me off discourteously.  
For I have loved you well and long,  
Delighting in your company…  
  
Greensleeves was all my joy  
Greensleeves was my delight,  
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,  
And who but my lady greensleeves_."  
  
The melody died and Wraith's smile became a little sad. "Such a pretty song…with such sad words," she murmured, "Hm." She looked back to Snape, eyes bright. "Thank you," she said, smiling fully again. "Was this in the library?"   
  
"Personal collection," Snape replied.   
  
"It's yours?"   
  
"Yours now," he told her. He'd turned and started out again when Wraith's soft voice stopped him.   
  
"Severus?"   
  
He looked back, taken aback by the fear in her voice. She looked up at him, the book still open in her hand.   
  
"I'm strong again," she told him, "My magicks have returned, it doesn't hurt to use them. But––I don't want to leave here yet."   
  
Snape considered her before he replied. "I think that  _you_  are the only one who can judge your strength," he told her. "I think that it should be up to you when it is you leave here."   
  
"But will the Dark Lord agree?"   
  
"The Dark Lord is distracted," Snape said evenly. "Who can say what he'll see and what he won't?"   
  
Wraith smiled slightly with relief. "I've been here for more than three months," she said. "But it hardly feels so."  
  
"True," Snape said, "I hadn't realized so much time had passed."  
  
"I could stay here forever," she said quietly, her eyes taking in the walls and windows around them with fondness. "I could live a thousand lifetimes here and never wish to leave. I feel like I'm home here. There've been no nightmares," she said, looking back to him, shaking her head. "I'm not…haunted here, like I was at the Manor. I still feel like I'm  _waiting_  for something…like I did there…but I'm not afraid here. I want to stay here…at least until June passes again…but I don't think he'd ever let me stay that long. He'll have to call on his Lady Death before long."   
  
"He could call upon her here," Snape said firmly. "I see no reason at all why you can't remain living here, even after he calls on you again."   
  
"You wouldn't mind my being here longer?"   
  
"Not too much," he said wryly. He gestured to the piano. "Play on, Lady Wraith. It's too bright a day for such dark thoughts."   
  
"How about a match later?" she asked as he went to the door.   
  
"At your convenience, my Lady."   
  
She had already begun to play again by the time he'd reached the hall.     
  
  
  
  
Later in the week, when evening had just started to fall, Wraith ventured outside the castle for the first time again. Her steps were hesitant as she crossed the grounds, and her eyes never turned towards the forest, but steadily she made her way down to the lake's edge. The sky above her was a medley of blue and orange as the sun set in the west; it seemed as pretty as painting to her.   
  
She found herself smiling out at the water, though it was touched by sadness still. It took every ounce of her strength not to look at the woods to see if he waited there for her. Wraith closed her eyes as the still fresh grief and pain surged through her. She held up her hand and let the emotion rise out of her as pale fire in her palm.   
  
For a few moments, Wraith stared into the fire of her making. It felt good to be able to call upon her power without fear of pain. There was a thrill to hold it again. She may have hated the way that her Lord put it to use, but Wraith never hated the power itself.   
  
With a sigh, she dismissed the flame by closing her hand around it. Looking down at the shore at her feet, Wraith considered it. Another small, curious smile came to her face as she looked at the water. She leaned down and removed her shoes, casting them farther back on the bank. She then took her skirts in hand, closed her eyes––and stepped onto the water.   
  
She walked several steps forward, her feet never sinking more than an inch into the deep water beneath them. Her heart pounding at her own daring, Wraith opened her eyes and grinned. She glanced back at the shore to see how far she'd actually gone.   
  
Her control wavered slightly and she slipped deeper into the water, up to her ankles. Taking a breath, she rose again. More certain now, she went out a few steps further, staring down at the murky depths of the lake as she went.   
  
Her concentration was shattered then by Fang's overwhelming bark. She managed to inhale sharply before she suddenly plunged into the freezing water.   
  
For a long moment, she could see nothing but the dark water around her and in that moment, it frightened her. But she pushed herself upwards and broke the surface with a gasping breath.   
  
The first thing she saw was the gamekeeper at the edge of the lake, yelling frantically out to her. " _Are ye alright_?"   
  
"I'm fine," she called back, lifting her arm out of the water to wave back at him. "I'm okay!"   
  
Never a very good swimmer, she struggled back to the shore and dragged herself out of the water. She coughed a little as Hagrid hurriedly reached to help her to her feet.   
  
"What were ye  _doing_?" he demanded.   
  
Shivering a little, Wraith dared a small smile. "Practicing," she told him.   
  
To her surprise, the gamekeeper took off his great coat and threw it over her thin shoulders.  
  
"I was doing just fine before your dog broke my concentration," she told him, her smile taking the harshness from her words.   
  
"Well, ye should git back up to the castle," Hagrid told her gruffly, "before ye freeze to death."   
  
"No," Wraith said lightly, removing the heavy coat and offering it back to him, "I'll be fine." She closed her eyes and breathed deep. A moment later, she was completely dry again. "There," she said, opening her eyes to see Hagrid's shocked expression. She smiled weakly. "I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't mention my use of magic to anyone," she said gently.   
  
"And who would I be telling?" Hagrid said with a huff.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith said lightly, raising a brow, "Maybe whichever member of the Order that's out in the forest today?"   
  
From the way the large man paled, Wraith knew that she had guessed correctly.   
  
"I don't care who's out there," she told him quickly, "I don't care why they're here. And I won't tell anyone, long as they keep to themselves."  
  
Hagrid mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. Then he looked at Wraith again and she was surprised by the seriousness of his face. "…Two weeks ago, ye came out of the forest…with a trail of blood behind ye."   
  
Wraith looked away quickly. "It was my blood," she told him softly.   
  
"I knew it," Hagrid said, "The way ye were moving…ye were hurt bad. Ye seem okay now."   
  
"I heal fast," Wraith said, still unable to look at him and hating the fact that a near stranger knew what had happened to her.   
  
"Makes me sick knowin' that one of ours did sumthin' like that."   
  
"It's no worse than any of ours would do," Wraith said quietly.   
  
"Well, that'd be why I don' like it."   
  
Wraith could say nothing to that. She was saved from an answer by Fang, who had caught up with his master. He jumped up, his paws on her chest, as he attempted to lick at her face. Wraith let out a breathless laugh and scratched at his ears.   
  
"Fang, git down," Hagrid said, reaching for the dog's collar, "Yer getting mud all over 'er dress!"   
  
"Mud comes off," Wraith said, smiling at the dog. "It's okay."   
  
Looking surprised, Hagrid reached into one of the many pockets of his coat and pulled out a sturdy leather bound ball. He offered it to Wraith. "Here, throw that for a bit. The great mutt needs the exercise."   
  
Wraith's odd eyes brightened and she took the ball. Immediately, Fang got down and started barking again, waiting for the girl to throw his toy. Wraith lifted the ball up and tossed it as far as she could. Fang took off after it, fast as his legs could carry him.   
  
As both she and Hagrid watched the great dog chase after the ball, Wraith glanced at the gamekeeper. "…I am not your enemy," she told him softly. "I've no wish to be."   
  
Hagrid cleared his throat. "Then yer not," he said simply.   
  
Wraith smirked, "I wish it were that easy for everyone."   
  
Hagrid shrugged as Fang raced back to them with the ball in his mouth. As Wraith reached to take it from him, she suddenly stiffened and looked towards the gate.   
  
"Go back to your cabin," she said swiftly, almost harshly, "Take Fang with you."   
  
"Why're ye…?"   
  
"Just go!" Wraith told him, her eyes upon the gate. "…He's here."


	23. Pretender

_"The best way to keep one's word is not to give it."_  
  
  
  
  
Moving quickly, Wraith ran back to where she had tossed her shoes and slipped them back on. As soon as Hagrid had taken Fang back inside where she was sure that they'd be safe, Wraith hurried down the path towards the gate, just as she saw it start to open. Looking down at herself, she snapped her fingers impatiently. The mud and dirt that Fang's paws had smeared on her vanished as if it had never been.   
  
Lord Voldemort stepped through the gate, unsurprised to see his Wraith coming towards him. "Pet," he said with a nod of his head.   
  
Even at a distance, Wraith saw immediately that her Lord was in a foul mood. "My Lord," she said, her voice even.   
  
He reached her and absently touched a hand to her cheek as he passed. "I've come to speak with Severus," he told her as they walked up to the castle side by side.   
  
"He's likely in his office," Wraith said. "Would you like me to run up and let him know that you're here?"   
  
"No," Voldemort said, glancing at her and coming to a step at the bottom of the front steps. "Give me your arm."   
  
She offered her left arm to him and he pushed back her sleeve. Wraith winced only slightly when he touched his finger to the Mark on her skin and made it burn. Still holding her wrist, Voldemort seemed to frown down at her Mark. Wraith glanced down, but saw nothing for her Lord to frown at.   
  
"My Lord?" she said hesitantly.   
  
He lifted his eyes to her face and she saw how deep his ire truly went. It shook her to even imagine it could be taken out on her.   
  
"M-my Lord, what has happened?" she asked swiftly.   
  
"Nothing has happened," Voldemort snapped, releasing her and stepping away. "I'll explain inside." He walked quickly and Wraith struggled to keep up.   
  
They were met by Severus at the top of the staircase within the entrance hall. Without a word, Snape fell into step behind the Dark Lord with Wraith. Voldemort led them to the sitting room on the sixth floor. With a flick of his wand, flames erupted in the fireplace, casting light into the previously dark room.   
  
Striding along the length of the table, Voldemort stopped at the head of it and turned, placing his hands flat upon the table's surface. "We have discovered, at last, what it is that Potter and the Order took from the Ministry. Their purpose, it seems, involved a file within Rabastan Lestrange's office. Previously, I had set Rabastan and Yaxley with the task of tracking Talbot and his last band of rebels. The file that Potter took contained everything that we have discovered about Talbot, including his presumed location."   
  
Wraith stepped forward, frowning thoughtfully. "But what would the Order of the Phoenix want with the rebels? Why are they seeking them out now?"   
  
"That answer is why I am here, my Wraith," Voldemort said shortly. His red eyes turned to Snape. "Severus, I have need of your opinion. You know how I value it. You know Minerva McGonagall better than any other I could ask. What do you think she wants with this information?"   
  
For a few moments, Snape was silent. "…It is actually hard to say," he said slowly, "My first instinct tells me that Minerva would seek an alliance with those already against you. However…"   
  
"Yes?" Voldemort prompted.   
  
"There are many within the Order who would…object to such an alliance," Snape said. "Many of those rebels had a hand in many deaths within the Order."   
  
"But McGonagall herself? Potter?"   
  
"There is little they wouldn't do to bring my Lord down," Snape said softly. He and Wraith shared a quick glance when the Dark Lord remained silent.   
  
Then, with a sudden motion, Voldemort turned and his wand slashed through the air. There was a quick flash of light and one of the windows shattered instantly. Wraith and Snape froze as the shards of glass scattered across the floor with the force of the Dark Lord's spell.   
  
In the terrible silence that followed, Wraith took a single step forward, placing her hand upon Snape's arm. He glanced at her, saw the quick shot of fear in her eyes, but also the strength beneath it.   
  
"Go," she all but breathed the word. Snape shook his head just slightly, his eyes upon the Dark Lord's back. Wraith moved closer still and whispered into his ear. "I could  _make_  you leave, Severus," she told him.   
  
Snape scowled briefly, turning his head again to meet her eyes. He longed to be able to speak openly, but did not dare.  _You don't need to protect me child_ , he thought as he turned from her again.  _I've been doing this a lot longer than you have._    
  
He started forward, but Wraith's hand gripped at his sleeve, holding him back. He looked back at her sharply, saw the concern and worry clearly in her face. It surprised and touched him.   
  
They both stopped when the Dark Lord turned towards them again. Her hand still upon Snape's arm, Wraith hurriedly stepped forward towards Voldemort.   
  
"My Lord," she said softly, releasing Snape's arm and reaching her hand out to the Dark Lord. "Even together, what can they do?" She tentatively touched his face, moving closer. "They are but a pebble in your shoe," she spoke quietly, barely audibly over the roar of the fire behind them. "They cannot stand against you forever. You are too powerful. You  _will_  break them."   
  
Voldemort pushed her hand aside, but he seemed calmer. "Such confidence, pet."   
  
"Confidence is easy when you're on the winning side," she replied dryly.   
  
"My Lord," Snape began cautiously, "I find I agree with the Wraith. The Order has no real chance, even allied with Talbot. They have been constantly on the defensive, they've not the power or skill to launch a true offensive attack. They may persist a while longer, but they will not gain any ground against you."   
  
Once more, Voldemort was silent, but his silence this time seemed more contemplative. "Wraith," he said at last, "the locket. Bring it forth."   
  
Frowning slightly at the sudden request, Wraith closed her eyes and held out her open hand. A moment later she held the golden locket the Dark Lord had placed into her protection. She held it out to her Lord, who took it from her.   
  
Holding it up in the firelight, Voldemort's gaze seemed to sharpen. "Above all else, my pet," he said softly, his words for Wraith alone, "You _must_  keep this safe. There is nothing of greater importance. Do you understand?"   
  
Wraith nodded as he handed her the locket once more. "I understand, my Lord," she said, clutching the locket to her heart, "It will remain safe. As your loyal servant, you have my word."   
  
Voldemort touched a hand to her cheek, leaning closer to her. "You are a blessing," he murmured to her. With that, he straightened and left the room with a bare nod to Snape as he passed. But at the doorway, he paused, looking back to Snape. "Be at the Manor, Severus, in three days time, at eight. I want your view of things to come."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Snape replied, bowing his head.   
  
Then the Dark Lord was gone, closing the door behind him. Snape looked to Wraith. When she lifted her gaze to his and nodded that it was safe, he spoke at last.   
  
"You've a gift for finding the right words with him," he told her.   
  
"If my Lord has anything, it is pride," Wraith replied, "Pride I understand, for I also have it in abundance. Potter's attack on the Ministry hurt our Lord's pride…in more ways than one," she added dryly. "It is, perhaps, the only thing I truly understand about my Lord," she said softly, "For we've only that in common."    
  
  
  
  
It was early the very next evening that the school owl that Wraith had borrowed returned to Hogwarts. Wraith was walking outside along the lake's edge when the owl found her. He fluttered down to land upon her shoulder, a return letter clutched in his beak.   
  
Wraith felt a thrill run through her a she took the letter from the bird. Freed of its obligation, the owl took off, flying back to the Owlery. Wraith started back up to the castle herself, the letter pressed to her heart. She had only just reached the top of the staircase within when she saw Snape at the end of the hall.   
  
"Janesch wrote back," she said at once.   
  
The joy in her eyes was bright and Snape returned her small smile.   
  
"Well, there you are. Have you read the letter?"   
  
"Not yet," Wraith said, shaking her head. "I just got it. I was going up to my room so I could write a reply back once I had."   
  
"A sound plan," Snape said. Hesitantly, he touched a hand to her shoulder. "Best get on with it. I will be in the library should you have any need of me."   
  
"Thank you, Severus," she said. Still smiling, she hurried down the hall past him.   
  
Snape waited a moment there, watching her go before he started for the library again.   
  
Wraith reached her rooms to find that the house-elves had already stoked up her fire and her room was comfortably warm within. There was also a tray of tea and small sandwiches for her as well. She was pleased to see it, surprised that the elves had taken such initiative. Then she laughed at her own foolishness. Snape had probably told them to bring her food. He watched her eating habits more closely than the Dark Lord did.   
  
Wraith sat at her table and poured a cup of tea before she finally opened the letter to read.   
  
  
 _My Dearest Little Ghost, Janesch wrote, I was sorry to hear of your pain, but am glad that you are healing from it. You are right in the fact that I cannot be near you yet, but I am_  very _glad to write, ma petite. I am still in Britain, though I won't say where just in case this letter falls into the wrong hands.  
  
I was surprised and rather delighted to read what you had to say concerning one Severus Snape. I had thought to waylay him into obligation concerning your life and welfare, but to hear that he has become a true friend to you is astonishing…and makes for very glad tidings. You've a skill, my little ghost, for finding friends just when you have need of them.   
  
As far as your…secret of the forest…Ma petite, I am rather impressed! How is it that even without me to goad you along you manage to find the most improper of first loves? You must tell me more of what happened there, I beg, I plead! Tit for tat, ma chéri, I'll even tell you about _my _new sweetheart in return.  
  
And tell me more of Hogwarts. You sound so much happier there than I have ever felt from one of your letters.   
  
With all the love I possess, Janesch._  
  
  
By the time that Wraith had reached the end of the letter, her eyes were filled with tears. Reading his words, hearing the familiar turn of dark humor the vampire possessed, made her miss him all the more. It was almost a physical pain in the dead center of her heart. But even with the pain, she was so very glad he had written back. She immediately reached for a sheet of parchment and ink and quill and set to writing her own reply.  
  
  
 _Janesch, I cannot tell you how much it meant to me to have you reply to my letter. I do promise that I am healing, but sometimes I feel overwhelmed by everything I've gone through, and everything I've done, since the night you left.  
  
I feel rather lucky to have Severus as a friend, although it is a rather odd friendship at best. I've never had someone to act as a father to me, Gavin never bothered and the Dark Lord…well. And Severus doesn't always manage to pull it off, either, I think because he's never actually been a father, but I appreciate the effort on his part. But he takes care of me, albeit from something of a distance. He does what the Dark Lord did not; he makes sure that I eat and that I sleep. He watches to see that I am actually healing, rather than just taking my word for it.   
  
As far as my secret…as I said in my first letter, that path has run its course. Though I have to admit, I don't regret it in the least. I found what I was missing with the Dark Lord's touch, Janesch, and even if I never find it again, I'll at least have had it once.   
  
So you've found a lover again, have you? I suppose he's young and innocent, or he was when you met him anyway. Maybe someday I will meet him.  
  
I _am  _happy here at Hogwarts, Janesch. Life is simpler here and there are no masks to wear. I will be sad to leave it, for I know that I cannot remain here forever._  
  
Write back as soon as you get this, my dearest friend.   
  
With love, your little ghost.   
  
  
  
  
Much later in the night, Snape found Wraith curled up on one of the couches in the library. He thought that she must have snuck in earlier without his notice. She looked so very peaceful that he was tempted to let her sleep there, but it was better that she slept in her own bed.   
  
With a sigh, Snape knelt beside the couch and reached out a hand to gently shake the girl's shoulder. "Wraith," he spoke softly, but firmly, "Child, wake up."   
  
She made a stubborn sound of protest and sleepily shook her head. Again, Snape sighed, this time with impatience.   
  
"Wraith, wake up."   
  
Her only reply was to turn her head away from him. Snape closed his eyes and wished for further patience.   
  
"Fine then," he said, thinking that it was a good thing that the girl was so tiny.  He stood and as gently as he could, lifted her up from the couch into his arms. To his surprise, the girl turned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. He moved slowly carefully, as he left the library and carried her up the stairs to her own rooms.   
  
It wasn't until he had reached her door that she began to stir. "Severus?" she murmured sleepily, not opening her eyes.   
  
"Yes, Wraith?" he replied dryly, pushing her door open with his shoulder.   
  
"You're my friend, aren't you?"   
  
He paused, closing his eyes. "Yes, Wraith."   
  
"You wouldn't leave me, would you?" she asked, her words slurred by the fact that she wasn't really awake. "You wouldn't hurt me?"   
  
Snape was silent as he crossed to her bedroom, and as he gently laid her in the bed. He took up her blanket and threw it over her. Then he touched his hand to her cheek, brushing aside a strand of raven hair.   
  
"Goodnight, Wraith," he told her. It was his only reply.


	24. September

_"I wasted time, and now doth time waste me."_  
  
  
  
  
It was two days later that Snape prepared to leave for Slytherin Manor. It would be the first time that he would leave Wraith alone within the castle. As they both stood on the front steps of the castle, he considered her.   
  
"Don't go wandering around," he told her firmly, "I don't want you getting into trouble while I'm gone."   
  
"It isn't as though you'll be gone long," Wraith retorted. When Snape gave her a hard look, she rolled her eyes skyward. "Fine, I'll not go wandering," she promised blandly. She gave him a considering look herself. Tilting her head to one side, she asked, "So what  _didn't_  you tell the Dark Lord when he was here?"   
  
For just a moment, Snape's eyes narrowed. Then he sighed. "The danger that the rebels held was in the information they possessed, but the danger was limited by their few numbers. That was why the Dark Lord hit them so fast and so hard, he wanted their numbers to dwindle further. If they truly intend to ally with the Order of the Phoenix, then the danger increases tenfold."   
  
"Information?"   
  
"The location of different bases within the country, various secret appointments in the Ministry and such," Snape said. "The Dark Lord moves more openly now, but there are many secrets he keeps."   
  
"So, with the Order, they'll have enough people to attack the bases, uncover the secrets still in the Ministry?"   
  
"In effect, yes,' Snape said. "It isn't talked about much, for the Dark Lord does not wish to hear it––but the Order gains more members every day. Their numbers are becoming a serious threat."   
  
"And why didn't you say this three days ago?" Wraith asked.   
  
"Because the Dark Lord already knows it and I did not want to be the one to remind him," Snape said.   
  
Wraith nodded slowly. "Good point," she said dryly.   
  
"You don't have to protect me from him, you know," Snape told her, "I've been at this for many years. I can read his moods well enough."   
  
"But our Lord is capricious," Wraith reminded him, "and his temper is quick. I saw no reason  _not_  to protect you, just in case."   
  
"It isn't as though he cannot hurt you as well," Snape said.   
  
"But I heal faster," Wraith replied softly. "There is a great deal I can survive, Severus. A normal witch would have died out there in the forest…a normal witch would have been crushed beneath Tzadik's tower…she would have died half a dozen times at Diagon Alley…might have died from the wound Bellatrix gave me….and I think honestly that it was only my power that kept me alive in the year between Gavin's disappearing and the Dark Lord's return." She smiled just slightly, but the expression held a great deal of bitterness. "I think, of the two of us, I am more likely to survive our Lord's temper, your experience notwithstanding."   
  
Something in Snape's eyes seemed to sharpen. "Gavin abandoned you in Azkaban?"   
  
"When I was sixteen," she said. "I think…that he didn't trust himself…not to go too far." She met Snape's eyes and he did not like the hard glint hers held. "Gavin would not have survived damaging our Lord's property…and he knew it."   
  
"And so Gavin is locked away in Azkaban…as you were," Snape said softly.   
  
"And he can rot there," Wraith said lightly, "until his mind breaks and his already sparse sanity crumbles to dust." She crossed her arms over her chest as if she felt cold. "The Dark Lord would have killed him, if I hadn't stopped him. Death didn't seem an appropriate punishment." The look in her eyes was now diamond hard, and sharp as glass.   
  
Snape was silent a moment before he spoke again. "Your anger could match that of our Lord's."   
  
Wraith smirked slightly. "' _Hell hath no fury_ …'" she quoted in a whisper.   
  
"I didn't even have a tenth of your hatred, did I?" Snape asked her, "Not compared with what you feel still for Gavin."   
  
"No," Wraith agreed.   
  
"Well, here's hoping I never get on your bad side again," he said dryly.   
  
Wraith smiled, closing her eyes a moment. When they opened again, the hard glint was gone from them. "I hated you because you saved my life," she reminded him, "My hatred for Gavin was something far different."   
  
"He abused you," Snape said shortly, "He deserves your anger, and his punishment."   
  
"It's funny really," Wraith said, gazing out absently over the grounds, "If the Dark Lord hadn't claimed me for his own, Gavin needn't have worried about such a severe punishment. Strange how fate works sometimes." At Snape's dark look, she smiled slightly. "Of course, you see our Lord's affections as a sort of abuse as well, don't you?"   
  
"He has power over you," he replied evenly, "and you do not want his affections. That would be abuse in my eyes."   
  
"You're wrong, just a little," Wraith said softly, "I  _do_  want my Lord's affection…I just don't want to sleep with him. But that's the only kind of affection he really has or would show." Her smile widened slightly and she tilted her head to one side. "You've something of a noble heart for the backstabbing git everyone seems to think you are."   
  
Snape snorted in amusement. "Well, we've our own set of rules, don't we?"   
  
"We do," Wraith agreed softly.   
  
Snape glanced at her and then sighed, stepping down the stairs. "I have to go," he said.   
  
"Yes, best not be late," Wraith said. "I'll see you when you return." She turned slightly towards the door, touching her hand to the handle.   
  
"No wandering," Snape reminded her.   
  
"Yes, mother," Wraith retorted dryly, stepping inside.   
  
Snape hesitated a moment longer, looking at the door that the girl had already closed. Then, shaking his head, he started down the path towards the gate.         
  
  
  
  
It wasn't wandering, she thought, knowing full well that she was trying to justify her curiosity. She had, after all, been to his office in the past. It was only curiosity, she told herself. There was no man except for her Lord that was as hard to read as Severus Snape. Friend or no, she could not help but want to poke around a little.    
  
She walked quickly through the darkened halls that lay between her room and his office, hoping to avoid the notice of the house-elves as much as she could. She was nearly there when she came to a sudden stop halfway down a corridor.   
  
There was a chill at the back of her neck. She wasn't entirely sure why she had stopped. She had the strangest sensation that someone had just called her name.   
  
Wraith turned her head, only to see a stretch of blank wall staring back at her. Frowning, she recalled the hidden passages she'd discovered in the past, also hidden behind the walls.   
  
With a hesitant step, she reached out her hand and pressed it to the stone. Closing her eyes, she extended her power through the stone, expecting full well to find something beyond it. What she found, however, was far from what she'd expected.   
  
For a terrible disorienting moment, she was pulled into a world of un-being, a world half-formed. It twisted around her, reached into her as if it were looking for direction.   
  
With a gasp, Wraith pulled herself free of it, stumbling away from the wall. With wide eyes, she stared at the space of blank stone, wondering at what she had seen, felt.   
  
"What  _are_  you?" she murmured aloud. "What kind of magic do you have that can twist me around like that?"   
  
It felt  _old_  to her mind, its age echoing in her bones. The magic behind the wall was ancient and very powerful.   
  
Quite suddenly, Wraith wished that Snape was not away from the castle. Surely he would know what was behind the wall, he could answer her questions.   
  
All thoughts of sneaking in his office vanished from her mind. She turned quickly, heading back to her rooms where she would wait for Snape to return.   
  
  
  
  
It was not long before Snape returned. His first destination was his office and he was unsurprised to see that every portrait was waiting for his return with wide eyes. He sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "What has happened?" he asked simply.   
  
"It's not an emergency," Phineas said, almost defensively, "But something has the girl pacing in her rooms again. She's quite agitated, actually."   
  
"Where has she been?" Snape asked, frowning, "What do you think set her off?"   
  
"Well, she went back to her rooms after you left, but did not remain there at first. I don't really understand," Phineas said, "She left her rooms and I followed, but she went down a corridor that doesn't hold any paintings. It was only a few minutes later that she came hurrying back. Whatever it was that set her off, it was on the seventh floor."   
  
"I believe that she's waiting for your return, Severus," Dumbledore supplied.   
  
"Hmph. Just as well," Snape said, "I've something to deliver to her." He took a small box from the pocket of his cloak and scowled at it.   
  
"What is it?" Dumbledore asked.   
  
"I don't know," Snape said irritably, "The Dark Lord asked me to give it to his Wraith. I don't know its purpose."   
  
"Perhaps the girl will," Phineas suggested.   
  
"No doubt," Snape said, removing his travel cloak and hanging it up. "I'll be back shortly," he told the portraits.   
  
With that, he made his way to the Wraith's door and with another irritated sigh, he knocked. He could hear her quick footsteps and saw the tension behind her eyes when she threw open the door.   
  
"Severus," she said, stepping out into the hall. To his great surprise, the girl rushed past him, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. "I have to show you something," she told him swiftly as she hurried down the hall.   
  
Snape followed her rapid pace, not bothering to try and take his hand back from her grip. It wasn't until they'd reached the corridor that Phineas had mentioned that she released him.   
  
"Here," she said, her eyes scanning what seemed to be a blank stretch of wall. "You know the castle fairly well, don't you? What's behind this wall?"   
  
"Can't your magicks tell you?" Snape asked, surprised.   
  
The girl scowled at him. "Usually, yes," she said, "But when I searched behind the wall, it was something I've never seen before. There's _something_  behind there, but I can't tell what it is. It's not like the secret passages, and it doesn't seem to be a room. When I looked––I got pulled into this muddle of magic and I don't understand it."   
  
Snape examined the wall, at a loss at first. Then he glanced at the opposite wall and the tapestry hanging there. "Ah," he said, his own scowl fading slightly. "It  _is_  a room after all. This must be the entrance to the Room of Requirement."   
  
"What is that?" Wraith demanded.   
  
"It's a room that provides a person with what they need. I suppose you couldn't tell what it was because you didn't give it direction. The Potter boy used it in his fifth year to form a prohibited Defense Against the Dark Arts group," he said, sneering, "and Longbottom made quite a nuisance of himself last year by using it as a hiding place before the school closed. Somehow they used this room to escape the castle."   
  
"So  _that's_  what I felt," Wraith murmured, frowning at the wall, "Severus, this room is  _old_. Its magic is the oldest I've felt in the castle. It must have been here from the beginning." She looked at Snape curiously. "Do you know how to open it?"   
  
"I don't," he admitted.   
  
"Hm," Wraith sighed disappointedly, "I'll figure it out. I'm sure." Rather hesitantly, she stepped back from the wall. "So, how did it go tonight?" she asked.   
  
Snape turned, gesturing for the girl to follow. "Nothing unexpected," he told her as they walked along. "You might be interested to hear that Bellatrix is very far along in her pregnancy. Rodolphus mentioned that he and his wife are living with the Malfoys again, so that Narcissa can assist her sister in the final months before the birth."   
  
"Hmph," Wraith scowled lightly. "I'll tell you what I told our Lord," she said, "I feel very sorry for that child."   
  
"You are not the only one," Snape replied. "I shudder to think of what kind of mother Bellatrix will turn out to be. She'll make a monster out of that boy."   
  
Wraith felt a strange sense of foreboding at those words, but she shook it off. They now stood before the gargoyle that led to Snape's office.   
  
"Come," he told her, silently providing the password to the stone figure. It leapt aside to reveal the staircase and together they climbed. "Before I forget," Snape said as they sat, "The Dark Lord asked me to deliver this to you."   
  
He set the box upon the desk and pushed it across the surface to her. Wraith frowned slightly and opened it. Her frowned melted away as her eyes widened.   
  
"Oh."   
  
Snape leaned forward slightly as the girl removed what had been in the box.   
  
It was a medallion, an oval small enough to fit in the palm of the girl's hand. It was a deep, dark gold and set with an intricate, almost Celtic design. Here and there within the swirling gold there were small pale blue jewels.   
  
Snape's own frowned deepened. "Wraith?"   
  
"It's…It's the end of August," she said softly, holding the medallion almost reverently in her palm. "I was born sometime in August, though we're not sure of the actual date. He…our Lord gave me something last year too."   
  
"A birthday gift?" Snape said, a little incredulously.   
  
"Well, last year he used the giving of the gift as an excuse to make his intentions to sleep with me clear," Wraith said dryly, finally lifting her eyes to his. "Perhaps he means this to be a reminder of those intentions." She smiled rather softly, touching gentle fingers to the medallion. "I have to say, our Lord is not a man without taste."   
  
Still smiling slightly, she slipped the thin golden chain over her head. The medallion rested against her breast, glittering in the firelight.   
  
"The stones are blue topaz, I believe," Snape said, for lack of anything better to say. "They suit you," he added, the words not matching the uneasy look in his eyes.   
  
Wraith smiled gently at him, as if she could sense his discomfort, though she said nothing in return.      
  
  
  
  
The month of September seemed to pass quickly. Snape and Wraith fell into a calm sort of habit with one another. It was not often that either of them sought the other out, but their paths crossed all the same.   
  
Wraith would spend much of her time in the music room with her piano, or the library or her own rooms. Snape stuck close to his office, but now again he would find himself drawn out by the girl's presence.   
  
Every so often, he would find her gazing out of a window at the forest. He could easily recognize the look in her eyes. The terrible wanting of something you could not have.   
  
Seeing that all too familiar expression made Snape realize something. The Wraith was far from over her encounter with the Rowle boy. Whether or not he'd had something to do with the attack, the child still  _missed_  him.   
  
Whenever he caught sight of her in such a mood, Snape would do his best to distract her from it. Part of it was the sense of obligation he felt to keep her alive, but it was, though he'd never admit it even to himself, also painful for him to see that wanting in her eyes. Her pain was too close to his own half-closed wounds.   
  
Before they'd even realized it, October had arrived––and with it came the Dark Lord once more.


	25. Fascination

_"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire."_  
  
  
  
  
The lilting melody of Chopin's  _Fantsia Impromtu_  bled into the silence of the music room, the last note hovering in the air like a whisper. Wraith let out a sigh, her fingers spread lightly over the keys, drinking in the quiet around her.   
  
"You've improved."   
  
Wraith started in surprise, turning quickly towards the doorway. Seeing his familiar face, she smiled and got to her feet. "My Lord," she said in greeting, bowing slightly. "I've had time to practice," she said, replying to his words.   
  
He gestured for her to come closer and she did as she was bid, crossing the room to him. He reached out a hand when she was close enough and touched the medallion that she wore.   
  
"I see Severus delivered my gift," Voldemort said lightly.   
  
"Yes, thank you," Wraith said, lowering her eyes.   
  
"And do you like it?" her Lord asked her archly.   
  
"Of course I do," she retorted, glancing at him.   
  
His hand drifted up lightly over her neck to rest under her chin, lifting her face towards him. Wraith closed her eyes, leaning into his touch just slightly. But she opened her eyes a moment later at the soft sound a trailing hiss from the doorway.   
  
"Nagini!" she said, surprised enough to step away from her Lord and towards the door.   
  
To the Dark Lord's amusement, the girl knelt upon the floor and held out a hand in greeting to the great snake.   
  
"I haven't seen you for ages," Wraith said softly as the snake lifted her head up to meet the girl's outstretched hand. "I've missed you."   
  
She heard Voldemort hiss softly behind her and wondered if he was translating what she had said to Nagini. The great snake twisted around the girl's legs before she slithered towards Voldemort.   
  
Wraith stood, her eyes following the snake. "I thought she was guarding something for you?" she asked, lifting her eyes to her Lord.   
  
"She was," Voldemort said, leaning down slightly so that Nagini could twist her way up to his shoulders. "I had her set a trap, but the bait was never taken. And I did not like having her so far away from me for so long," he added, "So I brought her back to me."   
  
Wraith went back to him, touching her hand to Nagini's head. "I'm glad she's back," she murmured.   
  
Nagini hissed, a low almost inaudible sound that made Voldemort smile just slightly.   
  
"Why don't you sit and play again?" the Dark Lord suggested. He conjured a high-backed chair near the piano and took a seat himself, Nagini still resting comfortably on his shoulders.   
  
Feeling delighted, Wraith went back to the piano and turned the pages of her music book back to a song she knew almost by heart. She began to play, first sneaking glancing at her Lord to see if he was really listening, but then she fell into the music and became blind and deaf to everything else.   
  
When the song ended, she went right into the next one without pause. Outside, night was falling, the sun dipping low on the horizon and casting shadows into the room. It was only when Wraith had finished the third song that she lifted her head again and looked to her Lord. She opened her mouth to apologize for playing longer than she'd intended, but the apology died on her lips.   
  
The Dark Lord was staring into the air above her head and as she looked to him, he blinked as if coming out of a trance. "Very nice," he told her.   
  
"Thank you," she said softly, delighting that her Lord took enjoyment from her music. "Thank you for listening to me play."   
  
"You've a surprising talent for it," Voldemort said. "I think that I'll call for the house-elves to bring tea here. Play on, my pet."   
  
Elated to do so, Wraith chose another music book and began again.   
  
It wasn't long before a pair of house-elves came into the music room with a tray of tea for them and Wraith knew without looking that the two of them lingered in the doorway after they had delivered the tea to listen to her play. She was very used to having a small audience now and then and the Dark Lord did not seem to notice them.   
  
He did notice, however, when Snape stepped quietly into the room. Voldemort glanced at the man briefly, nodding in greeting. Not wanting to break the spell of the music Wraith played, Snape bowed his head silently to the Dark Lord before he quietly pulled up another chair to sit and listen as well.   
  
Wraith played the songs that she enjoyed the most, not even having to look at the music for she had them memorized in her heart.   
  
It was a long time before she opened her eyes again, pulling herself out of the spell she had created.   
  
Sensing him before she turned, Wraith smiled slightly. "Hello, Severus."   
  
"Lady Wraith," Snape replied, nodding to her when she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I think that's the best I've heard you play."   
  
Smiling brighter, Wraith looked to her Lord. "Severus comes down to listen now and then," she explained.   
  
"I see why," Voldemort said. "Did you have any plans for yourself this evening, pet?"   
  
Wraith shook her head, frowning slightly. "Not really," she said after a moment, "Just passing time here."   
  
Snape poured a cup of tea, adding only a little sugar, before he offered it to Wraith. She took the cup with another smile and turned on the bench so that she faced the both of them.   
  
"What brings you here, my Lord?" Snape asked, taking a cup for himself as well. "I trust nothing further has gone wrong?"   
  
"I only thought that it had been some time since I had visited my Wraith," Voldemort said, not taking his eyes from the girl. "And no, nothing has happened. The Order has gone to ground again, it seems. No doubt they are carefully planning their next move, but for now…all is calm."   
  
"'For now' being the pertinent words," Wraith murmured dryly.   
  
"Quite," Voldemort agreed, nodding to his Wraith. He stood, automatically being careful of the snake still draped over his shoulders. "Come, my pet."   
  
Wraith bowed her head as she stood and took the hand that her Lord offered to her. "Goodnight, Severus," she said gently, glancing at him. "Thank you for coming to listen."   
  
Snape stood and bowed to the both of them, standing aside so that they could pass. Though his face showed nothing, he felt something akin to dread as he watched them walk away.    
  
  
  
  
Snape returned to his office and immediately looked to Phineas's portrait. The former Headmaster was not within his frame and Snape trusted that he was over in Wraith's rooms, keeping an eye on the girl and her Lord.   
  
"I was listening as well," Dumbledore said lightly as Snape paced the length of the room. "She  _is_  talented, quite a joy to listen to."   
  
"Yes," Snape agreed, his tone distracted. "I think that the Dark Lord actually  _does_  enjoy hearing her play, but…I've no doubt that his actual purpose for coming here was to reaffirm her need of him. You were down there listening, you said. Did you see her face when she looked at him? She was absolutely delighted of the thought that he'd come to hear her music. He's just spinning his web further around her."   
  
"I agree," Dumbledore said, frowning slightly with worry.   
  
"He's brought Nagini back from Godric's Hollow," Snape said, turning to face the portrait. "Potter never took the bait, never went back there as you feared he would."   
  
"That's good at least," Dumbledore said.   
  
"You know why," Snape said, darkly, "As often as she wore it when she was hunting…I think that Potter has realized who guards that locket now."   
  
"It is possible," Dumbledore said. "It could be why he's turned his attentions back to helping the Order."   
  
"No doubt he is wondering the same as we. How could we separate her from the locket?" Snape murmured, more to himself than the portrait. "She regards it as a treasure, something to protect with her life. She would never willingly let it go."   
  
"Not unless she was willing to leave  _him_ ," Dumbledore said.   
  
Snape laughed humorlessly at the very idea and did not reply. For a few minutes, the only sounds within the office were the crackling of the fire and Snape's pacing footsteps.   
  
"What if he takes her again?" Snape whispered, stopping to stare out the window. "I don't see how she would survive it, promise or no promise."   
  
"Her word means a great deal to her," Dumbledore reminded him. "She won't break her promise to you, Severus. She cares about you too much."   
  
Snape winced and kept his face away from the portrait. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that," he muttered, scowling.   
  
"Whether I say it or not, it's true," Dumbledore pressed. "She may still need her Lord, Severus––but she needs you too."   
  
"As she needed Vivaldi," Snape murmured, "As she needed the Rowle boy."   
  
"Something beyond her Lord…to remind her that she is human and more than his servant," Dumbledore said, completing Snape's thought.   
  
"But she needs  _him_  more than any of us," Snape said, his scowl deepening. "And that is where we fail."      
  
  
  
  
Voldemort settled into his chair before the fire, as Nagini slithered around the length of the room to familiarize herself with it. Wraith sat down at one end of the short couch, watching the snake for a moment. They had been followed into the room by the same pair of house-elves, who brought with them mulled wine which they set upon the short table in front of the fireplace before leaving quickly.   
  
Voldemort reached down to take one of the goblets when he noticed the thin book lying upon the table's surface. Curious, the Dark Lord picked up the book as well and began to flip through the pages. "What is this?" he asked his Wraith, recognizing some of the poems as Elizabethan.   
  
"Severus found it for me," Wraith replied, rather hesitantly, "He thought I would enjoy it. It has the words for  _Greensleeves_  in it."   
  
"Ah," Voldemort murmured, leaning back in his chair, "You two seem much more…comfortable with one another than I'd imagined."   
  
"Well, when you live with someone, you're bound to at least tolerate them," Wraith said lightly, reaching for her own goblet. "I think that it irritates him, though, that I seem to always beat him at chess. And as I said before, he likes to listen to me play." She sipped at the mulled wine, finding that she enjoyed it. "Does it bother you, my Lord? Our friendship?"   
  
"No," Voldemort said, "It surprises me, is all." He flipped back to the beginning of the book and began to actually read it. "I think it well that my two greatest servants get along. It was rather frustrating when you didn't."   
  
"Is that part of the reason you had me brought here?" she asked.   
  
"Part," Voldemort admitted.   
  
Nagini had finished her round about the room and slithered up to the couch where Wraith sat. The great snake lifted her head up and made her way onto the arm of the couch. She settled herself along the back of it, her head dipping down to rest near Wraith's shoulder. The girl smiled as she lifted a hand a stroke the great snake's head.   
  
"Does she actually like me?" Wraith asked her Lord, with a raised brow, "or is this something of your prompting?"   
  
"She likes you well enough," Voldemort said, studying the pair of them, "You do not fear her, that endears you to her somewhat." Another thought occurred to him, but he did not speak it aloud.   
  
They remained that way for some time; the Dark Lord reading lightly through the little book with his Wraith and Nagini resting comfortably on the couch. Wraith drank down the wine and began to feel a touch sleepy.   
  
Nagini lifted her head and hissed, obviously speaking to Voldemort. He hissed in return, earning him a curious look from his Wraith. Nagini hissed again before lowering her head to brush against Wraith's shoulder.   
  
Voldemort sighed and drained his goblet, placing it upon the table again. Then, to his Wraith's surprise, he stood and crossed to the couch. "Move over, pet," he said softly.   
  
Wraith did as he asked, scooting over so that he could sit in her place. Nagini moved her head down a little more, laying it across the Dark Lord's shoulder. Voldemort reached over and touched Wraith's chin.   
  
"Come closer."   
  
Chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, Wraith moved back over, until her arm brushed against his. She wondered, worried, about his intentions, but she did not speak. Voldemort lifted his arm and put it around her, stroking her dark hair. Wraith felt herself sigh, the tension slipping from her. Carefully, she rested her head against his chest, curling her legs up onto the couch to get more comfortable.   
  
Voldemort smiled slightly to himself as he continued to run his hand over her hair. "My dear little pet," he murmured.   
  
Wraith heard the slight amusement in his tone and smirked. The wine was making her feel warm and comfortable and she felt her eyes drift closed. She lifted her hand lazily, reaching across Voldemort to stroke Nagini's smooth scales. The snake hissed softly, moving her head a little so the girl could reach her better.   
  
As Wraith started to pull her hand back, Voldemort caught it in his own. Wraith lifted her eyes to his face as he brought her palm up and placed a kiss there. Something in her fluttered with what could have been warning, but she pushed it back.   
  
Voldemort lifted her hand and rubbed his cheek against the cool skin of her wrist, taking in the soft scent of her. He glanced down at her face, intrigued by the soft look in her half-closed eyes. She was so very trusting…   
  
As if catching himself, Voldemort blinked and gently released her hand. Wraith pulled it back, laying it over her heart as she closed her eyes again. A moment later, Voldemort disentangled himself from her touch and went back to his chair.   
  
Wraith felt a stab of what she suspected was a mixture of disappointment and relief. With a sleepy sort of sigh, she stretched out across the couch on her side, pillowing her head upon the crook of her arm. She felt Nagini slither down the couch to stretch herself out behind Wraith's back, putting her head close to the girl's.   
  
Voldemort looked at them in silence for a few moments before he leaned forward. He tapped his wand to his goblet, refilling it with more wine. Once more, he settled back, opening the little book again.   
  
It wasn't long before he realized that his Wraith had fallen asleep there on the couch. He watched her breath deeply in and out, caught in her own calm mood. After a few minutes though, he stood and paced in front of the fire.   
  
  
  
  
Snape, still pacing in his office, felt the Mark on his arm burn lightly. All the same, he winced slightly and scowled at it. "I'll be back," he told Dumbledore.   
  
He followed the call over to the Wraith's rooms and knocked softly upon the door. It opened under his hand and he stepped inside. When he saw Wraith sleeping on the couch, he was glad that he had been quiet.   
  
His eyes catching movement, he turned his attention to the Dark Lord. He bowed his head and spoke softly, "My Lord?"   
  
"I will take my leave soon," Voldemort said, his pacing coming to a stop, "but I wished to speak to you briefly. How is my Wraith doing, Severus? Is she sleeping well?"   
  
"Well enough, I'd say," Snape replied quietly. "Her sleeping patterns have never been what you would call normal, but I've seen no sign of the nightmares you warned of."   
  
"Good," Voldemort said, looking down at his Wraith. "That's very good. Perhaps here she is untouched by such things."   
  
Looking at her again, Snape felt a sharp shock when he realized that the snake Nagini had curled up on the couch with the girl. Seeing the look on Snape's face, Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly. "What?"   
  
"It's nothing of consequence, my Lord," Snape said quickly. "I just…I don't believe I've ever seen Nagini behave that way with anyone but you, my Lord."   
  
Voldemort turned his eyes back to Wraith and Nagini. He reached down, brushing a strand of dark hair from Wraith's cheek. "They are both a part of me," the Dark Lord spoke softly; "They've an interest in protecting one another." He straightened.  "I may be leaving sometime next month," he said, his tone changing.   
  
The slightest movement on the couch behind Voldemort's line of sight told Snape that Wraith was not as deeply asleep as the Dark Lord had assumed.   
  
"I wish to be sure that Potter had slunk back into the shadows before I go, else I'd have already left––but I may be gone for some time. My Wraith will remain here with you, Severus. I trust you to watch over her as you have done these past months."   
  
"Of course, my Lord," Snape said. "The girl is comfortable here; no doubt she will accept it."   
  
"There is a little doubt," Voldemort disagreed lightly, glancing at her once more. He hissed under his breath, speaking to Nagini. The great snake lifted her head and hissed in return before she slithered down to the floor. She moved across the floor to the Dark Lord and twisted up his body to his shoulders. "Make sure that she gets to her bed," Voldemort told Snape before he crossed to the door. "I'll return again before I take my final leave," he added.   
  
Snape bowed his head again and kept his eyes downcast until Voldemort had stepped out, closing the door behind him. With a sigh, Snape turned to the couch to see Wraith sitting up. There was a deep and dark look to her eyes as she stared after her Lord.


	26. Obliged

_"The truth that makes men free is for the most part the truth which men prefer not to hear."_  
  
  
  
  
When Snape reentered his office, he was followed shortly by Phineas returning to his portrait. The former Headmaster had a sly cagey smile upon his face, as if he had become aware of some deep dark secret.   
  
Dumbledore glanced in Phineas's direction before he looked to Snape. "So Tom is preparing for a journey?"   
  
"Yes," Snape said, unsurprised that Dumbledore had been listening in as well. "And his Wraith is  _not_  pleased by it. Once the Dark Lord had left the castle, she stood and disappeared into her room."   
  
"Slammed the door quite effectively," Phineas added, smirking.   
  
"She didn't speak a word," Snape murmured as he sat behind the desk, "Just stared after him…" Snape sighed deeply, sitting back in his chair. "I had hoped…that she was past the need for him, but he still holds her in sway. We need more  _time_. Vivaldi was right…the girl still defines herself by the Dark Lord's will. She doesn't know how to exist without his presence. A month here and there does nothing––not when he always returns."   
  
"Perhaps there will be more of a chance with him leaving now," Dumbledore suggested, "He did say that he was not sure how long he would be gone––"   
  
"Ah, but how long will he be able to keep himself away?" Phineas interrupted smoothly.   
  
Snape have the portrait a sharp look. "Why don't you share what you observed, Phineas? Since you seem so intent on doing so?"   
  
"The Dark Lord, I believe, underestimates his own need. His need for the girl." Phineas smirked, running a hand over his goatee. "There was a moment this evening, when they were seated side by side on her couch. The girl had rested her head against his shoulder and she reached past him to pet that great snake. The Dark Lord caught her hand and held it close––before he seemed to catch himself. The girl––she calls to some part of him. In truth, I can see why. If I had known her when I was younger and alive…" He sighed with what could have been disappointment. "There is such an innocence to her, but there is also a craving for knowledge just beneath her skin, a wanting as it were––"   
  
"Phineas––shut up," Snape told him sharply.   
  
The portrait did fall silent, but the sly expression he wore remained.   
  
Uncomfortable as it was to hear, Phineas's insight was intriguing nonetheless. Could the girl truly become the Dark Lord's weakness? But then Snape shook his head.   
  
"He would never let it go too far. He's too shrewd to allow her to become a liability to him, much as he's attracted by her willingness to please him." He rubbed a hand against his aching head. "I confess, I am much more concerned by the effect he has on the girl than I am her effect on him."   
  
"Perhaps you should try speaking with her on the matter," Dumbledore suggested lightly.   
  
"I don't see why she'd listen to me."   
  
"You are her friend," Dumbledore reminded him. "Wraith has said so herself."   
  
Snape did not reply. Instead, he stood and crossed to the window, staring out into the dark night. "There is something else that concerns me," he said softly, "Something that the Dark Lord said in regard to the girl." He looked back to the portraits, his face grave. " _'They are both a part of me,'_  he said," Snape repeated. "Dumbledore, you suspect that Nagini is the last of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes…could Wraith be another?"   
  
A shot of fear and worry flashed across Dumbledore's face. Then he frowned, deep in thought. "I…I do not believe so," he said at last, his voice hesitant. "We have seen the effects of being a living Horcrux with Harry…Wraith does not have the same insight into her Lord's mind. No. They are connected, but it is not the same. I do not believe that the girl shares a fragment of his soul."   
  
Snape let out a breath of relief. "I had to ask," he said evenly.   
  
"Severus, their connection isn't something that I've ever personally seen," Dumbledore continued. "If Wraith truly is some sort of magical construct, then I would hazard a guess that  _that_  is where their connection lies. If Tom truly did  _create_  her…"   
  
"A problem in of itself," Snape murmured darkly. "If there's any truth to it at all…we will have to deal with it eventually."   
  
  
  
  
It was several days before Snape had the opportunity to try and speak with Wraith. The girl had all but barricaded herself within her rooms, well buried in her sulking as Snape was becoming accustomed to. He made certain that the house-elves took her food whether she'd asked for it or not. Phineas reported that the girl had what was brought to her, though she did so without any enthusiasm. It was well enough, in Snape's mind, that she was not starving herself.   
  
It wasn't until the seventh day after the Dark Lord's visit that Wraith finally ventured outside of her room. She had slipped out without Phineas's notice, but Dumbledore had seen her entering her music room several floors below. Snape took some comfort in the fact that she had gone back to her music. Her mood always seemed to improve with it.   
  
He thought at first to join her there, but some edge of caution and curiosity led him to her empty rooms instead. When he reached her door, he fully expected it to be locked and that he would be able to simply turn away. But to his great surprise, the doorknob turned easily under his hand.   
  
He stood there, in mild shock, at the threshold before he took a breath to steel himself. With all caution, he stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him.   
  
The front room was very familiar to him by then, for they took their games of chess within it often enough, but it felt strangely empty without the girl present. The fire was dying, its weak embers casting only a little edge of warmth into the room. The only true source of light was that of the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows.   
  
Snape stood at the closed door, looking all around him. He eyes fell upon her little desk…and the opened letter sitting on its surface. He crossed the room, his footsteps all but silent as he reached the desk.   
  
The letter was slightly worn, as if it had been put away and taken out several times to be reread. Snape very gently smoothed out the paper to read the words upon it. After a moment, he recognized the handwriting as the vampire Vivaldi's. It must have been the reply Wraith had received from him a month before… His curiosity peaked now, Snape bent slightly so that he could read the letter in its entirety.   
  
 _'––to hear that he has become a true friend to you is astonishing'_ …Snape snorted with dry amusement.  _You are not the only one astonished by it, Vivaldi._    
  
 _'––You've a skill, my little ghost, for finding friends just when you have need of them.'_  Snape frowned thoughtfully on that, realizing that it held more than a grain of truth.   
  
With a sigh, Snape stood straight and went back to the door, thinking that he had pushed his luck far enough for the day. He wondered idly if the vampire had written her back yet.    
  
  
  
  
A few minutes later, Snape arrived in the music room. Standing in the doorway between Flitwick's former office and the room itself, he stopped so he could listen without disturbing the girl.   
  
Her face was slightly turned towards the windows so he could see from her profile that she was frowning slightly. He listened as she carefully played out a lilting melody, stopped, and then started again as if searching for the right notes. It was only when she had played it through a few times without stopping that Snape ventured further into the room.   
  
"What is that you're playing?" he asked when she turned to glance at him.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith replied moodily, still frowning. "The melody's been rattling around my mind for a while now, but I cannot for the life of me recall where I first heard it." Slowly, she played out the first few notes again, all but scowling at the piano keys. "It doesn't sound right on the piano," she said after a moment, "In my mind I hear––strings."   
  
"A violin, perhaps?" Snape suggested, coming up behind her. "Could it be something Vivaldi played for you?"   
  
Wraith slowly shook her head. "No, not a violin," she said vaguely, "More like…a guitar…maybe a lute." She sighed and rolled her eyes in frustration. "Never mind," she said, waving a hand to dismiss it entirely. She turned around on the bench so that she faced him. She made an attempt at a weak smile. "Sorry that I've been so distant this past week," she told him.   
  
"You were having a sulk," Snape said dryly, "You're very good at those."   
  
Wraith sneered at him, but there was a light of humor in her eyes nonetheless. But the humor faded after a moment and her face took on lines of misery. She placed her hands flat on the bench to either side of her and slouched forward a little.   
  
"I couldn't tell you whether or not I'm upset that he's leaving…or that he told you and not me."   
  
Snape let out a breath, his eyes drifting towards the windows rather than her. "I imagine there's a little of both there," he said carefully.   
  
"I  _don't_  like it when he leaves," Wraith murmured fiercely. She lifted her head to look at Snape, unable to read his expression. "Do you know what it is he's looking for?" she asked him.   
  
"I don't," Snape replied, "but then…I haven't asked."   
  
"I have," Wraith said dispiritedly, "and was told that it's none of my concern. I've offered my help now and again, but the answer is always the same. He claims that he must make the search alone." Another scowl crossed her pale face. "If only he would let me  _help_  him, then maybe he wouldn't have to leave me."   
  
"Wraith…" Snape hesitated, trying to keep his temper in rein, but then he failed. "I do not think that you  _need_  him as much as you believe you do!" he snapped, his voice low and vicious, "Perhaps it is best that he  _is_  leaving you!"  
  
Even as the words left his mouth, he cursed himself for his bluntness. He turned, stalking away a few steps to put distance between them, and leaving Wraith to stare at his back with astonishment.  
  
Wraith opened and closed her mouth several times as she tried to find the words to speak. "…He is our  _Lord_ ," she said in a whisper, her shock showing clearly in her shaking voice.  
  
"I know that," Snape told her, "I would wager that I know that even better than you do."   
  
There was a heavy silence that was only broken when Wraith slowly stood and crossed to stand near him.   
  
"I think," she said slowly, "…that you don't quite comprehend what he is to  _me_. I  _do_  need him, Severus, as much as I resent that fact sometimes…it remains true."   
  
"It isn't any of business," Snape said tersely, keeping his back to her. "It's only…you seem to do so much better when he is away."   
  
"That's also true, in its way," Wraith acceded, "My life seems a great deal simpler…when he is away…but that doesn't stop me from missing him. Severus…"   
  
"My words were out of line," Snape said brusquely, "I apologize for them."   
  
"No," Wraith said quickly, placing her hand on his arm. "No," she said again when he turned slightly to face her, "Don't apologize, Severus."   
  
Very hesitantly, she lifted her hand to gently touch his cheek. Touch wasn't something that was particularly comfortable for either of them, but in a strange way that made it all the more important.   
  
"It's…" she murmured softly, "…it's good to have a friend to worry for me."   
  
Snape placed his hand over hers briefly, before he stepped back out of her reach. "All the same, I should have kept my mouth shut."   
  
Wraith laughed softly, shaking her head. "But Severus, if you don't speak, then who will?"   
  
Snape seemed to hesitate at the doorway, sensing that the girl needed something still. "Wraith," he began, and then he closed his mouth over the next words. Instead, he sighed lightly and said, "If you're finished with your music, then how about a match? I think we could both use something else to occupy our minds."   
  
Wraith smiled; a true smile that had become so much rarer after her injury in the forest. "I would like that," she said, following him out of the room.        
  
  
  
  
Later in the evening, while they were both sitting comfortably in her rooms with a chess board between them, they were surprised by the arrival of an owl just outside one of the tall windows. Snape stood and quickly crossed to open the window for the wind-bedraggled bird. In its beak it carried what looked to be a short letter.   
  
"That isn't Hesper," Wraith murmured, standing so that she could look at the owl.   
  
"And it's addressed to me," Snape said, frowning. "That's Narcissa's handwriting," he muttered as he quickly opened the letter.   
  
The owl took the opportunity to take its leave, flying back out of the window. Wraith watched as Snape's eyes scanned the written words and saw him scowl deeply by the time he had finished it.   
  
"What is it?" Wraith asked quickly as Snape crumpled the paper in his hand.   
  
"Narcissa thought it would interest us to know that her sister gave birth last night," Snape said dryly.   
  
Wraith's brow rose, though her eyes narrowed. "Well, I can't fault her––that  _is_  interesting. Is it the boy they expected?"   
  
"A healthy baby boy," Snape replied with a smirk. He crossed back to their table and lifted his glass in a mock toast. "Rabian Arcturus Lestrange––God help him."   
  
Wraith felt herself sigh and folded her arms over her chest. "Poor boy will need all the help he can get," she whispered, looking out the window.


	27. Apparition

_"Do not run from the truth. There be naught so hard to live with as a lie."_  
  
  
  
  
October soon bled into November without fanfare, though the weather began to turn colder. The rains came to Hogwarts again, accompanied with an icy chill to the air that covered the grounds.   
  
Wraith spent the chilly days within the castle. More often than not she ensconced herself within her rooms, settled before her fireplace with a collection of books gathered from the library. Snape would check in on her now and then, sometimes sharing a game of chess or simply discussing their various favorite books.   
  
Though their world held hints of the comfort they'd shared in September there was now an unrelenting edge of anticipation and anxiety that marred it. Wraith expected that any day the Dark Lord would return only to tell her that he was taking his leave. The constant waiting left Wraith feeling restless and vaguely unhappy. She hated the waiting, knowing that she was unable to do anything else.   
  
One grey foggy morning, Snape knocked at her door. "Come in," Wraith called from her place at the window-seat.   
  
When Snape stepped inside the room, she was still sitting there, gazing out of the ice-glazed glass. "Good morning," he said evenly.   
  
"Good morning, Severus," she replied, turning her head to smile softly at him. Then she looked back to the window, reaching out a hand to touch the glass. "It's cold out today," she murmured, "Colder than before. Do you think it will snow?"   
  
"Not yet," Snape said, crossing the floor to join her at the window, "Perhaps in another couple of weeks."   
  
"Has there been any word?"   
  
Snape didn't have to ask what she referred to. "No," he told her, "nothing at all."   
  
"I suppose it's early yet," Wraith murmured, her mouth a thin line. She glanced at Snape and gestured for him to sit with her. Snape hesitated a moment before he sat on the other side of the window-seat. "So what's the plan for the day?" she asked, her voice forcibly lighter.   
  
"No real plan, as usual," Snape said, shrugging slightly. "I thought you might like to accompany me down to the library this morning."   
  
"I think I would," Wraith replied.   
  
Snape couldn't help but notice that she seemed unable to look away from the window for long. "Wraith, is something on your mind?"   
  
"…He's out there again," Wraith whispered.   
  
Snape's eyes jerked to the window, but he saw nothing but the rain. "Who are you talking about?" he demanded, straining to see beyond the fog.   
  
"My secret," Wraith said softly. She pressed her palm against the window. "I can almost feel him…He's out there…in the forest…He's waiting."   
  
Snape's eyes narrowed as he turned them back to the girl. "And what is he waiting for?"   
  
"For me, I suppose," Wraith said, dropping her hand back in her lap. "It's not the first time I've sensed him."   
  
Snape studied her face, but it told him nothing of the girl's mind. "Have you considered… meeting him again?" he asked carefully.   
  
"No," Wraith said firmly, shaking her head.   
  
"Wraith…" Snape hesitated before he reached out a hand, touching it gently to her shoulder, "The word 'closure' comes to mind."   
  
"I don't need closure, Severus," Wraith told him, "I need to forget him."   
  
Snape sighed and started to pull his hand back. But Wraith laid her hand over his, stopping him.   
  
"But I won't, will I?" she murmured.   
  
"Perhaps not entirely," Snape said gently. Her hand felt cold over his.   
  
With a sigh of her own, Wraith released him, sitting back against the wall and looking out the window once again.   
  
Snape looked away from the expression of longing in her eyes, finding it akin to staring directly into the sun. He stood and offered his hand to her. "Come," he said, "Let's find something else to occupy your mind."   
  
Wraith looked away from the window reluctantly, but took his hand and allowed him to pull her up to her feet.   
  
  
  
  
A few days later, Wraith finally returned to the music room. Evening was falling softly outside the castle, the cloud-strewn sky stained with deep pinks and purples cast by the setting sun.   
  
As she sat at the piano, she found that odd melody playing through her mind again. Determined to ignore it until she could remember the source, she made herself play out  _Greensleeves_  as if to drive the other song from her mind.   
  
It wasn't until she had played through that and several other songs that she finally gave in. She glanced at the windows to see that it had grown dark outside, though the stars were still hidden by the rainclouds above. Idly, she slowly played out the lilting melody that seemed to haunt her.   
  
Listening intently as she played, she realized that the song was brighter than she'd realized. It was almost a tune made for dancing, celebrating. She played it a little faster, trying to find the pace that she heard so clearly in her head.   
  
Lost in the song as it was, she did not notice the figure behind her right away. When she finally saw movement out of the corner of her eye, she froze. As silence fell in lieu of the song, she turned her head to see who had interrupted her.   
  
A chill washed over her when she saw no one there. She'd been so certain that someone had been behind her…   
  
"Hello?" she called out softly. There was no reply, yet Wraith was quite sure that she wasn't really alone. She closed her eyes, extending her senses, but she felt no strange enchantments that would conceal someone from her sight.   
  
Turning back to the piano, she began to play the song again. After a few minutes, she saw the movement again. This time, however, she ignored it at first, trying to draw whoever it was out further.   
  
When the song came to its end, Wraith slowly turned her head. There was a flash of movement, almost too fast for her to see. But suddenly she understood what it was.   
  
"Wait!" she cried, holding out a hand. To her surprise, the movement stopped at her request. Wraith stood up from the bench, her hand still extended.   
  
She could barely see the apparition that stood just before the wall. It seemed to be that of a young woman with long flowing hair. Wraith couldn't make out her face.   
  
"Please," she whispered to the ghost, certain that that was what this figure was. Wraith took a step towards her, but the apparition quickly floated back, half disappearing into the wall.   
  
"Don't go," Wraith pleaded with her, "Can't you stay?"   
  
The ghost seemed to hesitate…and then she came back fully into the room, regarding Wraith with her opaque stare.   
  
Wraith smiled slightly at her. "Have you been here all along?" she asked in a whisper.   
  
The ghost shook her head slowly.   
  
"Can you speak?" Wraith asked her.   
  
Again, the ghost shook her head. Slowly, the ghost floated towards Wraith and then past her, reached a transparent hand towards the piano. Wraith turned to see her fingers pass through the keys like smoke. With the ghost closer now, Wraith could just make out her face. She must have been lovely in life, though her face was somber as she regarded Wraith.   
  
"You were listening to me play?" Wraith murmured, "Would you like me to keep playing?"   
  
The ghost nodded, moving away from the piano and holding her hands clasped before her.   
  
Wraith felt herself smile. "Alright," she said softly, sitting down again. She began to play, half her eyes on the ghost who stood listening.   
  
After a few minutes, the ghost moved closer and then she sat on the bench beside Wraith. Wraith felt the icy chill as the ghost's hand passed through her shoulder, but she did not flinch away.   
  
She stopped playing, turning to look at the ghost beside her. The ghost reached out a hand, laying it very close to Wraith's cheek. There was a terrible sadness on the shade's lovely face.   
  
Staring at her, Wraith felt mesmerized. "I wish you could tell me your name," she murmured.   
  
She saw the ghost open her mouth, but no sound emerged. Sadly, the ghost shook her head. Before Wraith could speak again, the apparition was suddenly gone and she was alone in the room once again.   
  
Breathing deeply, Wraith stood and ran to the door. "Severus!"   
  
Snape heard her calling his name and met her only a few feet from his office. The girl's face was flushed with excitement as she ran to him. "Severus," she said again, smiling, "I saw one of the ghosts! They're not gone!"   
  
Snape blinked at her. "You saw a ghost? Where?"   
  
"Down in the music room," Wraith told him, "It was a woman. She was listened to me play. She––she was very weak, Severus, I could barely see her and she couldn't speak. Do you suppose––"   
  
"Suppose what?" Snape asked.   
  
"That it really  _was_  the ghosts that set that trap for you last year?" she said, a little breathlessly. "Perhaps it's only now that they're regaining their strength?"   
  
"It's…I suppose that it's possible," he said slowly, mulling it over in his mind. "It would explain why we've not seen them before now…"   
  
"Should we tell him?" Wraith asked, suddenly quite sober again.   
  
"I don't think it would really concern him," Snape said after a moment. "Why don't we keep it to ourselves for now?"   
  
"I agree," Wraith said. She glanced back over her shoulder. "I wonder who she was…"   
  
"What did she look like?" Snape asked her.   
  
"She was fairly young," Wraith replied slowly, "Lovely, with long pale hair."   
  
"And you say she was in the music room?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Perhaps it was the Grey Lady," Snape suggested. "She was Ravenclaw's ghost––and Flitwick was the Head of Ravenclaw House."   
  
"The Grey Lady," Wraith repeated softly. "I hope I see her again."   
  
  
  
  
Despite her wish, Wraith did not see any trace of the ghost after that, though she kept a weather eye out whenever she returned to the music room.   
  
It was a little more than a week later, when Wraith was returning to her room after abandoning her music, when she felt the Mark on her arm burn. She winced slightly at the pain, but listened intently to the message. Her heart leapt with a mixture of delight and dread.   
  
The Dark Lord was coming back to Hogwarts.   
  
  
  
  
Snape paced within his office, his mind restless. "You've seen no further sign of the ghosts?" he asked Dumbledore.   
  
"Not a trace, I'm afraid," Dumbledore replied, "Though I was down in the music room when Wraith was visited. The girl told the truth; it was a very weak ghost. It would not surprise me to find that it was the Grey Lady, as you suspect it was."   
  
"I think perhaps that Wraith's guess was dead on," Snape said, sneering slightly, "The ghosts used their collective strength to set that trap, either meant for me or the girl. How long do you suppose it will take before they return to their full strength?"   
  
"I have no idea whatsoever," Dumbledore said brightly, "But if it's taken this long for them to even become visible again…"   
  
"Hmph. I suppose I should be glad that something has happened to distract the girl," Snape said, almost bitterly, "She's been hanging on a thread these past weeks, just waiting for some word from the Dark Lord. To be honest, I expected him long before this." He glanced at the portrait. "Maybe Potter has finally resurfaced."   
  
"I think you would have received news if that had happened," Dumbledore replied.   
  
"We're running out of time," Snape murmured, still pacing, "The boy can't hide from the Dark Lord forever. If I don't find a way to get the sword to Potter before he's found… There'll be no chance for him to bring the Dark Lord down."   
  
"Hard to help someone when they believe that you're their enemy," Dumbledore said gently.   
  
"Truer words have never been spoken," Snape muttered. "But Potter will need my help whether he wants it or not. I will not allow my life to be a waste, Dumbledore. I will  _not_  allow the Dark Lord to win this war––"   
  
" _Severus_!" Dumbledore whispered suddenly, cutting him off.   
  
Snape heard the utter horror in his voice, but did not understand the meaning––until he looked to the door.   
  
It was cracked open.   
  
Moving as if he were in a fog, Snape walked to the door and pulled it open.   
  
Wraith stood there at the top of the stairs, her eyes flickering up to meet his. Her eyes were wide and the depth of the hurt and shock within them shook Snape to the core.   
  
"Wraith," he whispered, his voice tight.   
  
Wraith's eyes looked past him to the portrait of Dumbledore hanging on the wall. Dumbledore saw the flash of hatred in the crystal before she turned her gaze back to Snape. Slowly, the girl took a step back.   
  
"Wraith, wait," Snape said, "Let me explain––"   
  
But it was too late. Turning on her heel, Wraith disappeared down the spiral staircase. Before Snape could think to follow, he suddenly felt the Mark on his arm burn. He pressed a hand to his arm, a muttered curse on his lips.   
  
He felt as if the ground beneath his feet had suddenly given way. "He's here," he whispered in horror. "It's over, Dumbledore…It's all over."


	28. The Spy

_"My tongue will tell the anger of mine heart, Or else my heart, concealing it, will break."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith stepped into the sitting room where her Lord waited. Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he watched her close the door behind her and swiftly lock it. "Where is Severus?" he demanded, "I called for you both."   
  
There was a moment of silence.   
  
Slowly, Wraith turned so that she faced him. "…I waylaid him," she said simply, "I wanted to speak to you alone." She edged further into the room, never quite meeting her Lord's eyes.   
  
Voldemort watched her carefully, curious as to the spark of agitated power that surrounded the girl. "Your mind does seem to be heavy with something," he commented, "What did you want to speak of?"   
  
Something in Wraith's eyes flashed as they turned to him. "…I know that you're leaving," she told him. When his eyes narrowed once more, she held up a hand to keep him from speaking. "I heard you tell Severus. I wasn't asleep. I've been waiting for you to come back, as you said you would."   
  
"If you already know of my plans––then what is there left to speak of?" Voldemort asked, his voice dangerously low.   
  
"Take me with you."   
  
Voldemort scowled. "We've had this conversation before," he reminded her, "I don't know why you'd think my answer has changed."   
  
Her temper sparking dangerously, Wraith slammed her hand down upon the table. "I am at my full strength again!" she told him, "You know as well as I that I would be no burden to you. I could  _help_  you!"   
  
"I do not need your help," Voldemort replied.   
  
"So you keep saying," Wraith said, her lips twisting in a sneer. "You have all of my power at your disposal, yet you refuse to make use of it!"   
  
"I have other uses for your power."   
  
"Yes," Wraith scowled, "I am your Executioner––your Hunter––But I could be more!"   
  
Voldemort advanced on her, his own ire palpable. "You will do as you are ordered––You will await me  _here_."   
  
Their eyes met and locked. Wraith held his gaze with hers for a full minute of silence before she turned her back on him.   
  
"Maybe I am tired of waiting for you."   
  
The words were whispered, barely audible, but the Dark Lord heard them nonetheless. "That is a great pity," he told her sharply, "for it changes nothing." He reached out, placing a firm hand upon her shoulder and making her turn to face him. "You will lay low here while I am gone. I need you prepared to wage war when I return."   
  
"I  _am_  prepared to wage war," she hissed at him.   
  
"Obviously, since you seem so keen to wage it with  _me_ ," Voldemort said dryly.   
  
Wraith stared up at him, her strength seeming to fail. "…Please don't leave me here," she pleaded softly.   
  
"This discussion is over," he told her, stepping past her. "I've only come to bid you farewell and to give my final order. Full strength or no, I want you to continue as you have these past few months. Use your magic only when you are forced to. You must be ready when I come for you. Do you understand?"   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, breathing deeply. "Yes, my Lord. I understand."   
  
"Good," Voldemort said shortly. "If that is all?"   
  
For a moment, Wraith seemed to be on the verge of speaking––but then she simply nodded. "That's all," she murmured.   
  
"Then I will see you again when I return."   
  
"My Lord?"   
  
Voldemort paused, turning back to her. Moving swiftly, Wraith went him, reaching up to take his face into her hands. She lifted her face, her lips brushing against his.   
  
"Safe travels," she murmured, her eyes meeting his again.   
  
Voldemort smiled slightly, touching a hand to the medallion at her neck. "Thank you, pet." With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her behind.   
  
Wraith remained where she was for a moment longer, as if gathering her thoughts. Something in her face seemed to harden and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. With a steeling breath, she stormed out of the sitting room, slamming the door behind her.      
  
  
  
  
Snape was moving quickly, a small black bag in one hand. He reached up to the edge of Dumbledore's portrait and found the hidden latch. The portrait swung forward, revealing the hidden compartment behind it. Snape reached in and carefully pulled out the magnificent sword.   
  
"I could order a house-elf to deliver it," he suggested as he swung the portrait closed again.   
  
"But Severus––"   
  
"Potter wouldn't give me a chance to speak, Dumbledore," Snape reminded him, "Remember, he thinks that I murdered you." He held up the black bag, "I've placed my memories in here…just in case I'm…in case I'm caught before I reach them."   
  
"Headmaster!" Phineas gasped out, returning to his frame.   
  
"Not now, Phineas. I have to keep moving––"   
  
"Headmaster,  _he's gone_! The Dark Lord is gone! ––She didn't tell him."   
  
Snape froze. "What did you say?"   
  
"She didn't tell him," Phineas repeated, sounding as though he were having difficulty believing it. "She's pacing in her room––her door is open. Headmaster, I would venture a guess that she's waiting for you."   
  
"I'd say that you've a great deal to talk about," Dumbledore said lightly.   
  
Snape slowly placed the sword upon his desk, dropping the bag beside it. He took a breath as he straightened. "If I don't come back––send for the damned house-elf."   
  
"Severus, she's not going to kill you."   
  
"Don't be so sure, Dumbledore," Snape replied dryly.    
  
  
  
  
As Phineas had reported, when Snape reached Wraith's room her door was wide open and she was pacing the floor within. Snape hesitated at the threshold, watching her. She did not seem to notice him there, yet when he stepped into the room the door slammed shut behind him with incredible force.   
  
Wraith turned burning eyes upon him and Snape remained quite still under the force of them. "How long?" the girl whispered, "How long have you been a traitor to our Lord?"   
  
Snape hesitated, unsure of how to begin. But Wraith could not stand the silence.   
  
" _How long_?" she shouted.   
  
"Since before you were born," Snape said sharply.   
  
Wraith jerked back in shock, her eyes wide. She lifted a hand to cover her trembling mouth as she turned away. Her eyes drifted up to the painting that hung above the fireplace. She caught the slightest hint of movement within it and her face twisted into a scowl once more. With a sharp gesture, the painting went black.   
  
Looking back to Snape, she hissed, " _Why_?"   
  
Snape closed his eyes, turning his head away. "…I told you once…about the friend whose life I could not save…" He lifted his head to meet her eyes. "It was the Dark Lord who killed her. Since I could not save her, I thought to avenge her."   
  
"All this time," Wraith said cuttingly, "Your loyalty has been a lie?"   
  
"Yes," Snape said shortly.   
  
Wraith let out a dark laugh. "To think," she said scathingly, "I've hunted traitors all across the country––yet the greatest traitor was right in front of my face."   
  
"Essentially, yes," Snape said dryly.   
  
"Is there  _nothing_  of your life that is real?" Wraith demanded of him.   
  
The words stung far more than Snape thought they would.   
  
Wraith saw him wince and knew that her words had hit their mark. "…Why am I alive?" she asked him, making him look at her once more. "If you were sincere in your desire to bring the Dark Lord down…then you should have let me die."   
  
"I should have," Snape concurred, "…I didn't."   
  
To Snape's utter horror, he saw the girl's eyes fill with tears.   
  
"Don't," he said accusingly, "Don't do that. Anything but that."   
  
Wraith dashed the treacherous tears away with an angry gestured, just as appalled by them as Snape was. "I'm not some weak weeping thing," she snapped at him, "I'm only crying because I'm  _furious_  with you."  _Not because my heart is breaking._  She let out a shuddering breath as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest.   
  
Snape took a cautious step towards her. "…Why didn't you tell the Dark Lord?"   
  
"I don't  _know_!" Wraith exclaimed.   
  
There was a snap of power in the air around her and the fireplace went dark, along with the candles. The weak evening sunlight became the only source of light in the room.   
  
Wraith collapsed into a chair, burying her face in her hands. Snape slowly approached her. He knew that he should have said something, but there were no words left to him. Without lifting her face, Wraith held up her hands to him. Snape took her hands in his as he knelt in front of the chair.   
  
"Why, Wraith?"   
  
"Do you know what would happen to you?" she asked him softly.   
  
"Were you afraid the Dark Lord would order you to kill me?"   
  
"No," Wraith said shortly. She lifted her head slightly so that she could look at him. "No, Severus. If the Dark Lord were ever to find out the truth of what you really are…he'd kill you himself. Slowly."   
  
"Then  _why_?" Snape asked, "Why didn't you tell him?"   
  
With a deep sigh, Wraith released his hands and stood, crossing to the empty fireplace. She put one hand on the mantle as if to steady herself. Snape did not move from where he knelt. He could all but see her mind racing behind her eyes. Slowly, Wraith lifted her head, though she did not look at him.   
  
"…You saved my life," she said softly, "when by all rights you should have let me die. So here's me… returning the favor."   
  
Snape slowly got to his feet, hardly believing what he was hearing. "Wraith––"   
  
She held up a hand to ask for silence. She touched the same hand to the medallion she wore. "If you are my Lord's end––then so be it," she told him. She pulled on the medallion sharply, breaking the chain, and tossed it carelessly onto the table. "I won't help you," she said, finally meeting his eyes again, "…But I won't  _stop_  you either."   
  
Snape stared at her. "I don't understand," he said at last.   
  
"I'm not entirely sure that I do either," Wraith admitted with the smallest of smiles. "But I suppose what it comes down to is that…I'm more afraid of losing you than I am of losing him."   
  
"Wraith, this is insane," Snape said sharply, "I don't think you comprehend––"   
  
"No, Severus, I don't think that  _you_  do," Wraith said simply. "This war, as it stands on its own, means  _nothing_  to me. I don't––what's the term?" she murmured, smiling darkly, "I don't give a rat's ass about the purity of blood. The only thing that I concerned myself with was following my Lord's orders, keeping him happy. And I'm not sure of how important that is to me anymore."   
  
"Wraith, if the Dark Lord ever finds out––"   
  
"There's a great deal that he already doesn't know about me," Wraith said, smirking, "You're just one more thing to add to the list. I've already done things that he would gladly kill me for, Severus."   
  
"Your secret in the forest?"   
  
"That's one," Wraith said, "but not the only. I'll tell you now, Severus, what I've told no one before; not even Janesch." She took a breath, "Do you remember when Longbottom was being held captive at the Malfoys'?"   
  
"Yes," Snape said slowly.   
  
"I helped him escape."   
  
It was almost amusing, the pure shock on the man's face as he collapsed into the chair she had vacated. "You  _what_? Why?"   
  
"They were going to give him to Bellatrix as a  _toy_ ," Wraith spat. "You know that I can't abide torture, especially as a form of amusement. So I helped him, just a little."   
  
Snape gaped at her. "You're insane," he told her with half a laugh.   
  
Wraith grinned at him. "Aren't I just?" Slowly, her grin faded and her eyes went dark. "I'm tired of being his puppet, Severus. I want more. So while he's gone…I'll find it."   
  
"…And when he returns?" Snape asked softly, standing again.   
  
"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," Wraith said shortly. She closed her eyes, sighing as she leaned back against the mantle. "I need to think for a little while. Please go."   
  
Snape bowed his head, "As you wish."   
  
He started for the door, but Wraith lifted her head and called out, "Wait."   
  
Snape paused, looking back at her.   
  
"…I am frightened," she confessed, "This changes everything. But I want you to know that no matter what happens––I will protect you from him."   
  
"And I you," Snape promised.   
  
Wraith smiled weakly and lowered her head again.   
  
Snape disappeared through the door, softly shutting it behind him.   
  
Once alone, Wraith let her tears fall.


	29. Winter

_"To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead."_  
  
  
  
  
It was several days before Wraith left her rooms again. Snape was rather amused when the house-elves reported that the girl had removed the painting from her bedroom and stuck it out in the hallway. Phineas was somewhat less than amused. The painting that hung above the mantle in the outer room remained, though it was still blacked-out by the girl's magic.   
  
"Do you suppose she's alright?" Snape asked Dumbledore one evening.   
  
"She has a great deal to think on," Dumbledore replied after a moment's thought, "Much to reassess, as it were. Her world's been turned upside-down and her loyalty tested to breaking. Remember our girl's pride, Severus. If there was one thing she felt sure of, it was the loyalty she had to her Lord. Now she's found that there are more important things to her. And in not confessing you to him, she has greatly betrayed that loyalty."   
  
Snape heard all that Dumbledore was saying, but he couldn't help but harp on one phrase in particular. "'Our girl', Dumbledore?" he asked, raising a brow.   
  
"She is now," Dumbledore replied with a delighted smile. His bright blue eyes lit to the door. "Ah, and speaking of which…"   
  
With that warning, Snape was unsurprised by the insistent knocking that came to the door. When he opened the door he saw the quick smile that lit Wraith's face. He stepped back and gestured for her to enter. Wraith did so, her eyes almost fever-bright as she stopped at the desk and turned to face him.   
  
"I have questions."   
  
"I thought you might," Snape said. He crossed back to the desk and sat down, gesturing for her to do the same.   
  
Wraith declined with a small shake of her head and remained standing. "Okay," she said with a breath, "First question––him." She pointed at Dumbledore's portrait firmly, her eyes sharp on Snape. "You killed him," she said, "There were witnesses."   
  
"Things were not quite as they appeared," Dumbledore said, smiling at the girl.   
  
"So I assume," Wraith retorted, "But you  _are_  dead, yes?"   
  
Dumbledore nodded serenely. "Oh my, yes. Dead as a doornail, my dear."   
  
Wraith couldn't help but smile, though she wasn't sure how she felt about the former Headmaster. "Then if you could please explain?"   
  
Snape glanced at the portrait before he did so. "Dumbledore was already dying," he said bluntly, "He asked that I be the one to end his life, to both cement my loyalty to the Dark Lord––and to spare Draco Malfoy of the task."   
  
"Oh," Wraith said, blinking, "Poor Draco." Then she frowned slightly and looked to the portrait. "What had happened to you?" she asked, "Why were you dying?"   
  
"It's a rather long and complicated sort of story," Dumbledore said, rather evasively.   
  
"You have something else to do with your vast amount of time?" Wraith asked dryly, "Or is it that you'd rather not tell the Dark Lord's Executioner?"   
  
"It's complicated," Snape told her.   
  
"Alright, I understand," Wraith said, holding up her hands in a gesture of defeat. "Another question then," she said. "Who else knows about you? McGonagall?"   
  
Snape blinked. "No one," he said, "No one knows."   
  
Wraith turned wide eyes to him, an unreadable expression in the pale blue color.   
  
"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"   
  
"That's a very lonely life you've chosen, Severus Snape," Wraith said softly.   
  
Snape could think of no reply. He sat back in his chair and turned his gaze away.   
  
"…It's necessary," he said at last. "There is no one else who possesses my skills in Occlumency. There is no one else who can hide their thoughts from the Dark Lord like I can."   
  
"I can."   
  
"Yes, you can," Snape said, smirking. "Else neither of us would be here."   
  
Wraith matched his smirk as she finally sat down across from him. "Maybe it's a good thing that I know the truth now," she said lightly.   
  
Snape frowned at her. "Why do you say that?"   
  
"Now you're not alone, she told him.   
  
Again, Snape had no answer to give her. He cleared his throat and asked, "Have you considered…simply leaving him?"   
  
Wraith knew immediately of whom he spoke. Her face fell. "It's not that simple," she said weakly.   
  
"Your bond."   
  
"Exactly," Wraith hissed, lifting her eyes again. There was a familiar hard glint to them.   
  
Snape repressed a shiver. He had seen the same glint in her eyes in the vampire Vivaldi's memories––that night the girl had asked her friend to murder her.     
  
"I am bound to him––and he holds power over me. The––the way I was raised just further complicates it."   
  
"Have you tried breaking the bond yourself?" Snape asked her.   
  
"Yes," Wraith all but whispered.   
  
"So the Dark Lord must be the one to break it?"   
  
"Or I find another way to do so," Wraith replied. "It's part of how I plan to use his time away. I'll look closer at the connection he forged between us, see what I can discover about it. I can almost visualize it––but mostly I just… _feel_  it," she said, pressing a hand to her heart, "It's as if it is right  _here_ , like a rope or chain."   
  
"Around your  _heart_?" Snape asked.   
  
"No," Wraith said, shaking her head with a grim expression, "Around the very  _core_  of my being. It's  _deep_  magic and the only kind besides my own that has any effect on me."   
  
"But it isn't just the bond, is it?" Snape asked, his eyes narrowed as he studied her.   
  
Wraith bowed her head, with a bitter little smile on her lips. "Don't get me started," she said under her breath, "You hate it when I cry."   
  
She swiftly stood and crossed to the window, her back to Snape. "He's in my head," she said brusquely. "It took a long time to put him there––and it'll take a long time to pry him out again. But I  _will_  pry him lose. Even if it's the last thing I do."   
  
"I believe you," Snape said softly.   
  
Wraith turned back, her smile more genuine. "One last thing," she said, her tone brisk. "You'll have heard that I took that painting out of my bedroom. The other one will stay––on one condition."   
  
"Go on," Snape said, smirking slightly, half an eye on the portraits behind him.   
  
"I don't need old men with voyeuristic tendencies spying on me in my room," Wraith said, with a feral grin.   
  
Dumbledore succumbed to a coughing fit that was less than convincing as he no longer had the need to breathe. Wraith's eyes fell upon the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who was staring determinedly at the ceiling.   
  
"You are welcome to come and visit me," Wraith said, "But when you do, you will tell me so." She raised an eyebrow. "Do we have an understanding?"   
  
"Yes, milady," Dumbledore said, nodding. Phineas cleared his throat and nodded haughtily.   
  
Wraith grinned at Snape. "Come on, Severus," she said, "You owe me a game of chess."      
  
  
  
  
As evening fell around the castle, Wraith proceeded to win a second game of chess against Snape. She smiled slightly when she heard his muttered curse as he realized she was a move away from taking his king.   
  
"How do you do that?" he demanded.   
  
Wraith shrugged lightly, still smiling.   
  
Not for the first time, Snape noticed that her eyes drifted towards the windows. "He's out there again, isn't he?"   
  
Wraith smirked. "Being obvious, am I?"   
  
"Just a little," Snape replied dryly.   
  
Wraith looked to the windows once more and then closed her eyes. "He's really gone," she murmured.   
  
"Pardon?" Snape asked, confused.   
  
"The Dark Lord," Wraith clarified. She touched a fingertip to her temper. "I don't have the slightest awareness of where he is––I can still feel the link, which means that he hasn't closed it off. It also means that he's really gone." She opened her eyes. "I only wonder how long he'll be gone."   
  
Snape considered her. "And what does that have to do with your secret in the forest?" he asked mildly.   
  
The tiniest smile played at the girl's lips. "One thing is connected to the other."   
  
"You're thinking about meeting him again," Snape said.   
  
"I thought you couldn't read my mind," Wraith retorted.   
  
"Your mind, no. Your face?" Snape shrugged.   
  
Wraith laughed softly as she stood. She went to stand at the window, staring out into the night. "It's snowing," she said under her breath. "Amazing to think that in just another month I'll have been free of Azkaban for another year."   
  
Snape saw the way her eyes darkened and knew at once that she was thinking of the events of just a year ago. "Has Vivaldi written you back?"   
  
"Yes," she said lightly, not turning from the window. "Just a few days ago. He's well," she said, smiling a little more, "He's taken a new lover. He says it's the first time in a few decades."   
  
Snape cleared his throat. "Ah. Hm."   
  
Wraith laughed again, glancing over her shoulder at him. "It's apparently a young man, of age but only just. Janesch says that he's very sweet. I think he's in love."   
  
"Did he say so?"   
  
"No," Wraith said, shaking her head. "It's just a feeling I have. I'm very glad for him. Janesch always tried to keep my head above water, but I always sensed a loneliness about him. Same as me." She looked at him again. "Same as you." She smiled, though it held a hint of sadness then. "I want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy."   
  
"So do you," Snape told her cautiously.   
  
"Do I?" Wraith asked, finally turning back to him. She wasn't smiling anymore. "I've done horrible things. I've taken lives. Why should I deserve to be happy?"   
  
"Because you're alive," Snape told her simply. "You're young and you've had so little happiness in the past. Why shouldn't you be happy?"   
  
"What about you, Severus?" she asked him. "When do you get to be happy?"   
  
"When my job is done," he replied softly. "I'll worry about it then."   
  
"You deserve a little happiness too, you know."   
  
"You're not the only one who's done horrible things, Wraith," he said.   
  
"I know," she said gently, "But here you are, Sev, trying to make things right again. That's more courage than I have. You've practically given up your life to make things right." Wraith crossed back to him, leaning her hip against the table. "Will you tell me about her someday? Your friend?"   
  
"Someday," Snape said, standing slowly. "But not tonight." He started to leave.   
  
"Severus?"   
  
He paused to glance back at her.   
  
"I'm glad that I have you––you know that, right?"   
  
"…I do know," Snape said.   
  
Wraith smiled, a rather Cheshire expression as she snatched up her cloak.   
  
"Going somewhere?" Snape asked with a raised brow.   
  
"I'm making a choice," Wraith told her, walking with him to the door. "…I'll be back in the morning," she added, looking at him from over her shoulder.   
  
Snape snorted his amusement and rolled his eyes. "Just…be careful," he told her firmly, "I don't want to see your heart broken again."   
  
"If my heart breaks, it breaks," Wraith said, "And even if it does…it'd be worth it."   
  
"I don't disagree," Snape said. "…I'll see you in the morning."   
  
Wraith flashed him that grin again as she disappeared down the hall and out of sight.      
  
  
  
  
The forest was dark, the sounds of Wraith footsteps softened by the falling snow. She felt as if her heart was pounding in her throat as she reached what had been her and Edwin's clearing. It was covered in the light snowfall, the trees bare of leaves. It was lovely––and yet felt lifeless to her.   
  
When she saw that the clearing was empty, she had to close her eyes against the tears she felt burning there. She fell back against a tree, wrapping her arms tightly over her heart.   
  
But when she opened her eyes again, she saw the faintest sign of movement deeper in the trees. Her heart lifted and she pushed away from the tree. She then froze in place, waiting.   
  
As he stepped into the clearing, his eyes were locked upon her. Wraith lifted her hands and lowered the hood of her cloak. At first, neither of them moved. Then Edwin took a cautious step towards her.   
  
"Wraith," he whispered.   
  
"Hello, Edwin," she whispered in return. "Was I wrong to come?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.   
  
"No," he replied at once. "No, you weren't wrong to come. Wraith––please believe me––I had  _nothing_  to do with––"   
  
"I know," she said, cutting him off. "I always knew, Edwin. I was just afraid."   
  
"I could have killed her––Meadows," Edwin said. "When I saw her with that shotgun––when I saw your blood on the ground––"   
  
"The Dark Lord is gone," Wraith told him, "He's off searching for something…He could be gone for months."   
  
"Why are you telling me this?" Edwin asked her.   
  
"Because I want to spend this time with you," Wraith told him, "It can't last, Edwin, but…but I love you…and if I didn't take this chance I would regret it for the rest of my life."   
  
Edwin stared at her…and then he smiled. "Wraith…"   
  
"Will you have me?" she asked him.   
  
Edwin closed the distance between them and swiftly took her into his arms. With his face buried in her dark hair, he laughed. "I love you," he told her as he pulled back to see her face, "So yes, let's find happiness while we can. Even…even if it doesn't last…I couldn't regret having you in my life, even for just a little while."   
  
Wraith lifted her head just slightly, her lips barely brushing against his. She breathed in the scent of him, the warmth of him in her arms. With a stifled sigh, Edwin twisted his hand in her hair and pulled her closer, his mouth closing over hers. They stayed that way until they were breathless in each other's arms.   
  
Slowly, Wraith pulled back a little, her eyes locked with his. "Take me home with you," she whispered.


	30. Pure

_"You trick your lovers  
That you're wicked and divine  
You may be a sinner  
But your innocence is mine"_  
  
  
  
  
Edwin led Wraith along the twisted path back to Hogsmeade, every once in a while glancing back as if to make sure he hadn't imagined her. He held her hand tightly in his as they went through the dark. Wraith felt as if she were grasping a lifeline.   
  
Eventually they came to the edge of the forest. In the center of the small open ground rested a derelict house. "That's the Shrieking Shack," Edwin told her in a whisper. "People still believe that it's haunted so they give it a wide berth. Best place to sneak into the village really."   
  
"So, it isn't haunted?" Wraith asked.   
  
"Nope."   
  
Edwin stopped on one side of the high fence, eyes scanning it in the dark. He ran his free hand over the posts until he found what he was looking for. The two posts under his hand gave way, tipping back so that he and Wraith could slip through the fence.   
  
Edwin paused and made sure that the fence was completely closed again before he looked back to Wraith. A hesitant smile crossed his face and he reached up to touch her cheek. Wraith found herself smiling too as he leaned closer to kiss her.   
  
"Here," Edwin whispered. He brought the hood of her cloak up to hide her face in shadow once more. "We don't want anyone recognizing you, now do we?"   
  
Wraith laughed under her breath and shook her head. "No. No, that would be bad." She touched her hand to his cheek, sliding it back around his neck and drawing him back to her.   
  
Edwin pulled back with difficulty, for he very much wanted to stay close, as did Wraith. Slowly, he drew away, taking her hand in his again and leading her on.   
  
"So, where are we going?" Wraith asked in a whisper.   
  
"I was living above the bookshop, like I did when we first opened it," Edwin replied, "But I moved out a couple of months ago. It wasn't safe for Aly. I didn't want her to get caught in my mess if I ever got caught here. So I made a deal with the owner of the Hog's Head Pub. He gave me a room above the pub, the only one with an outside door. It's easier to keep my head down there." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "It's a bit of walk, sorry."   
  
Wraith just shook her head, smiling at him.   
  
When they reached the dark streets of Hogsmeade, Edwin reluctantly released Wraith's hand so that they would walk side by side. Two more anonymous persons in cloaks garnered no attention.   
  
It  _did_  feel like quite a long walk to Wraith, but she knew that it had more to do with the anticipation and nerves running under her skin than it did actual distance.   
  
The Hog's Head was very unassuming and she could see why Edwin preferred it to the shop on High Street. The pub felt quite off the beaten path. Edwin led her around to the side of the building where a wooden staircase went up along the wall to a door on the second floor.   
  
Edwin hurried his step and almost bounded up the stairs, Wraith in his shadow. He unlocked the door and took Wraith's hand again as he drew her inside. Wraith lowered the hood of her cloak as Edwin closed and relocked the door behind them.   
  
The room was small, with a worn-looking bed, a fireplace, and a rickety table with chairs at one end.   
  
"I wasn't really expecting company," Edwin said with a wry smile, moving to light a fire, "So sorry about the mess. I know you're used to castles and manors and such––"   
  
"Edwin, I am most used to a five by ten cell made of cold stone," Wraith reminded him. "This is nice. Besides––you're here. It feels like you."   
  
Edwin turned back to her, gazing at her in the firelight. Wraith felt her heart pounding under his stare. She reached up and undid the clasp of her cloak, slipping it off her shoulders and throwing it over the back of a chair. Slowly, unable to take his eyes from her face, Edwin did the same, crossing the small room to where she stood.   
  
In a breath, he'd taken her back into his arms, one hand twisted in her dark hair, the other at the small of her back. Wraith tilted her head back as she buried her hands in his hair as well, drawing in the warmth of him to her.   
  
As they kissed, Wraith brought one hand to the laces on the front of her dress and began to loosen them. It took Edwin a moment to realize it, but when he did, he moved her hand aside.   
  
"We don't have to do this tonight," he murmured, giving her a chance to wait.   
  
"I  _want_  to do this," she told him, meeting his eyes.   
  
Edwin saw the truth in her eyes and smiled. "Then," he said, "let me do this." He continued unlacing her dress, moving slowly.   
  
Wraith bit her lip, her pulse racing at the smallest touch of his hands on her skin. Before he had finished with her dress, she reached for him, hesitantly drawing the hem of his shirt up. Their eyes met again and Wraith smiled nervously. Edwin took a step back and pulled his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor.   
  
Wraith reached for him, running her hands up his bare chest. His skin was darkened by the sun and made her seem all the more pale against him. Wraith leaned forward, pressing her lips to his shoulder, slowly making her way along his collarbone. She imagined she could taste the sun on his skin.   
  
Edwin let out a shuddering sigh under her hesitant touch and very carefully he drew her dress away from her shoulders. Wraith pulled back slightly, looking up at his face, before she helped him slid the dress off of her arms. She pushed it down until it pooled upon the floor. She stood before him, shaking slightly, all but naked. But the look in his hazel eyes warmed her.   
  
Gently, Edwin put his arm around her waist and brought her back to him. He kissed her, deep and soothing and entreating. "You're beautiful," he whispered, running his hand up and down her back.   
  
His lips drifted down along her jaw and then her neck. A small soft sound escaped Wraith's lips as his other hand drifted up to her breast to gently caress. She ran her hand through his hair as he discovered her pale skin. Edwin held her close and brought his lips to hers once more.   
  
When he pulled back, he smiled again. "Here," he said softly, drawing her over to the bed. Wraith followed humbly, biting her lip again. Beside the bed, she fumbled at the button of his trousers, her heart pounding with nerves again. She laughed nervously when Edwin had to help her and avoided his eyes.   
  
"Wraith," he said, forcing her to look up at him. "I love you."   
  
"I love you," she murmured in return. Slowly, she sat on the edge of the bed, never taking her eyes from his as she moved to lay back.   
  
For a moment Edwin stood, taking in the simple sight of her in his bed. With an almost impatient breath, he took off his trousers and let them fall as his shirt had, as her dress had. He climbed into the bed, one hand gently sliding up her skin as he moved above her.   
  
Wraith lifted her hands, one caressing the back of his neck, the other sliding up his chest to where she could feel his heart beat. With a soft and happy smile, she drew him down to her.     
  
  
  
  
Sometime later, Wraith lay quietly in Edwin's arms. She couldn't recall a time she'd felt so very relaxed…and so very happy. She also couldn't seem to stop smiling.   
  
"Are you okay?" she heard Edwin softly ask her.   
  
"I think I'm a little more than okay," Wraith said on a laugh. She turned her head so that their lips met briefly. "Yes, I am defiantly more than 'okay'."   
  
Edwin smiled in return, but his seemed a little tense. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.   
  
"Tell you what?"   
  
"That…that you were a virgin."   
  
Wraith blinked at him. "I didn't think to," she said honestly. "Should I have?"   
  
Edwin sat up, looking at her. "I just thought…Well, there's a lot said about…you and him."   
  
"Oh," Wraith said, sitting up as well. "It just…it never happened. It almost did…but something always stopped it." She paused, turning to meet his eyes. "I'm glad that it was you," she said softly.   
  
"Why?' he had to ask.   
  
"Because I love you," she told him, smiling gently, "and because you love me back."   
  
"I do love you," Edwin said, touching a hand to her cheek. He leaned over and kissed her gently.   
  
"You weren't, were you?" she asked him then.  
  
Edwin blushed a very deep red. "Ah, no."  
  
Amused by his blush, Wraith grinned at him. "Do I want to know?"  
  
"I'll tell you later," Edwin promised. "Would…would you like some tea or something?" he asked, suddenly anxious again.   
  
"Tea sounds good," Wraith replied, still grinning.   
  
"Okay," Edwin said briskly. He moved over to the edge of the bed and stood, crossing to the crowed counter near the table.   
  
Wraith followed him with her eyes. She tilted her head to one side, with a wicked little smile. Edwin went about setting up the tea and glanced back at her over his shoulder. Seeing her smile, he smiled back. "What?" he asked.   
  
"Just admiring the view," she replied, grinning unabashedly.   
  
Edwin laughed, ducking his head as he grinned too. Looking back at her, the blankets twisted around her legs and the tangle of her hair. "Guess I am too," he said, the tone of his voice bringing color to her cheeks.   
  
He brought a pair of mugs back to the bed, offering one to her. She took the tea, inhaling the scent of jasmine. Edwin sat on the edge of the bed and took a sip of the scalding tea. He frowned slightly as a thought occurred to him. "Does Snape know where you are?"   
  
"Sort of," Wraith said, shrugging. "He knows that I left the castle. I didn't tell who I was going to, but I think he's sort of guessed who you are."   
  
"You think so?"   
  
"Who else would I hide?" Wraith said. "Besides, Severus is the one who gave me your name after we met that first time."   
  
"He wouldn't…he wouldn't give you away, would he?"   
  
"No," Wraith said, shaking her head. "It doesn't particularly concern him. He's something of a friend to me, he'll keep my secret for me."   
  
"…Will you stay the night?" Edwin asked her.   
  
"I'm not going anywhere tonight," she told him, the promise in her eyes.   
  
She took the mug from his hand and set his and hers upon the bedside table. Then she reached for him and the tea was quickly forgotten.        
  
  
  
  
Wraith woke in the early hours of morning, just before dawn. She was wrapped in Edwin's arms as she had been throughout the night, her head resting upon his shoulder. She felt so warm and content that she was reluctant to move at all.   
  
Her hand rested upon his chest and she could feel the beat of his heart beneath her palm. Edwin breathed deeply, still lost in sleep. Looking at him, Wraith felt her heart swell with sweet emotion. She bit down on her lip, waiting for the sudden wetness in her eyes to pass.   
  
Halfheartedly, she drew away to the side of the bed and frowned slightly as she scanned the floor for her clothing. As she was pulling her dress back on, she heard Edwin's stir.   
  
"Can't be morning," he muttered sleepily, blinking at her from the bed, "still dark out."   
  
Wraith smiled easily, shaking her head. "It'll be dawn soon," she told him, "I have to go."   
  
Edwin sighed deeply and dragged himself out of bed. He pulled on his pants, but didn't bother with the shirt, planning on crawling back into bed before long. To keep himself from being tempted, he waited until Wraith had finished dressing before he wrapped his arms around her.   
  
"I love you," he said.   
  
"I love you too," she replied, delighted that the simple word with so much meaning came so easily to her lips. She kissed him on the lips and then the tip of his nose.   
  
He grinned at her, hugging her tight. "Will I see you again tonight?" he asked her.   
  
"Yes," she said, pulling back. She glanced out the window at the snow covered street. "I'll Apparate to the edge of the woods," she said after a moment's thought, "so that I don't disturb the snow." She looked back to him and was surprised to find that he had crossed to stand behind her.   
  
Edwin put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. Wraith felt herself sigh in what must have been disappointment as she pulled back.   
  
"I'll see you tonight," she told him.   
  
"I'll miss you," he told her with a smile.   
  
"Won't be gone long," she reminded him.   
  
"I'll still miss you," he said.   
  
Wraith laughed, resting her cheek on his shoulder for a moment. Then she stepped back and drew the hood of her cloak up. "Until tonight," she said, smiling still.   
  
Edwin stared at the place she had been standing only a moment before. The little room suddenly felt lonelier, but Edwin thought he could still smell the scent of her skin in the air and it made him smile.


	31. Connected

_"With every experience, you alone are painting your own canvas, thought by thought, choice by choice."_  
  
  
  
  
The sun had only just begun to rise when Wraith reached her rooms. As she crossed to her bedroom door, she heard someone give a snorting snore and was unsurprised to see the painting above the mantle held Phineas Nigellus.   
  
The man blinked several times as if he had just woken. "Ah," he said, his eyes falling on her, "Good morning, milady."   
  
"Good morning," Wraith said, quite cordial.   
  
"I don't believe that I've properly introduced myself," Phineas said with a nod of his head, "I am Phineas Nigellus Black, a former Headmaster of this illustrious school."   
  
"A pleasure to finally meet you, Phineas Nigellus," Wraith said, bowing her head in return.   
  
"If you don't mind me saying so, milady," Phineas said drawlingly, "your hair is something of a bird's nest."   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow and declined to reply to his statement. She started towards her room again. "Again, it's nice to meet you, Phineas, but I'm going to bed."   
  
"Didn't get enough sleep last night?" Phineas asked with a leering sort of smile.   
  
Wraith gave him a wicked half-smile as a reply. "Not nearly," she replied wryly.   
  
"The Headmaster might be interested to know that."   
  
Wraith resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Severus is already aware of just what I was up to last night," she said, her voice a little sharp with warning, "Good day, Phineas."   
  
"Good day, milady," Phineas called after her as she disappeared into her room.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith left her rooms several hours later and found Snape in the library, perusing the shelves. "Good morning," she said, drawing his attention to her.   
  
Snape glanced at her, noting that her hair was still damp from her bath. "Good morning," he said, looking back to the shelves. "I trust that you enjoyed yourself last night?"   
  
"Oh, yes," Wraith said evenly, guessing correctly that Snape had no interest in hearing details. And she was rather grateful for that. No,  _very_ grateful.   
  
Snape cleared his throat, a clear sign that he was about to approach an uncomfortable subject. Wraith braced herself, crossing her arms over her chest.   
  
"Ah…I apologize in advance," Snape told her, not looking at her, "but as there is no one else to ask––You  _are_  being careful, aren't you?"   
  
"The same thought occurred to me, Severus, don't fret," Wraith said, breathing something of a sigh of relief. "I'm being careful."   
  
"It's just that, well, we both know that the Dark Lord will  _not_  be happy if he discovers that you took a lover, never mind who it is," Snape said, finally looking at her again. "And if you were to become–– _pregnant_ ," he practically choked on the word, "––there'd be no denying it."   
  
"I know," Wraith said, "Again, I'm being careful."   
  
"Thank god," Snape muttered with his own sigh of relief. "Are you going back tonight?"   
  
"I am," Wraith said, nodding.   
  
"Well then," Snape said, turning back to the books.   
  
"I was going to go down to the music room," Wraith told him, "Do you want to come and listen?"   
  
Snape glanced at her again, the surprise momentarily clear in his eyes. "Yes, I suppose I would," he said.   
  
  
  
  
That evening, shortly after the sun had set, Wraith bid farewell to Snape and Apparated to the Hog's Head, just at the bottom of Edwin's stairs. She climbed them slowly, smiling with tension and anticipation. She knocked very softly upon the door. Only a moment later the door opened.   
  
Edwin stood in the doorway, his hair tousled as if he'd been running his hand through it for hours. He grinned at the sight of her.   
  
Wraith tilted her head to the side. Edwin had a shirt on, but it wasn't buttoned. She let her eyes linger on his chest before she slowly lifted her gaze to his again.   
  
Seeing the look in her eyes, Edwin raised an eyebrow. "So, I don't suppose I could offer you a cup of tea first?"   
  
Wraith slowly shook her head, stepping into the room and closing the door. She never took her eyes from his. "We can have tea later," she said.   
  
"I don't know," Edwin said with a wry smile, "The last time we had tea….  _after_ , it went cold, so maybe––"   
  
He was cut off as Wraith grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a searing kiss. All objections, teasing as they were, were lost.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith traced a lazy hand over Edwin's bare back, oddly comfortable beneath his weight. She could feel his heart beating along with hers.   
  
"You have forever to stop doing that," Edwin murmured, his voice slightly muffled by her hair.   
  
Wraith giggled. "I think that I was promised tea," she reminded him.   
  
"Mmm," Edwin rose up so he could see her face. "So you were." He kissed both of her cheeks before he climbed out of bed.   
  
Wraith turned on her side to watch him. "So," she said as he went about making tea, "Will you tell me about your first?"   
  
Edwin winced and cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, I could do that."   
  
Wraith sat up, still watching him. Then her eyes narrowed. "…It was Clara, wasn't it?"   
  
Edwin turned bright red and had to lean upon the counter a moment. "Oh, bloody hell. Yes." He straightened when he heard Wraith's soft laugh. "How the hell did you guess that?"   
  
"Just lucky, I guess," Wraith said with a grin.   
  
Edwin sighed as he brought the tea over to her. He offered Wraith a cup and then sat on the edge of the bed. "It was a couple of years ago," he began, still sounding ridiculously guilty, "Clare has officially broken things off with Aly a few months before. I was still dealing with my parents' deaths. Hogwarts wasn't what it used to be and it was affecting the bookstore. It all just sort of hit us one night. We got drunk. Very drunk. And we ended up in bed. It was only the once and I think it was only Clara being, well Clara that kept it from being so bloody awkward."   
  
"Does Alexis know it happened?"   
  
"Are you kidding?" Edwin asked, "I went to her first thing the next morning and confessed. I expected her to hate me! But no, she forgave me on the spot and started talking about the store's inventory." He laughed weakly, shaking his head. "I think she can forgive Clara for sleeping with me. It's…everybody else that she has a hard time with."   
  
"I do have one more question," Wraith said, "I thought that Clara liked girls?"   
  
"Clara," Edwin said, "likes everybody."   
  
Wraith laughed out loud, half in humor and half in shock. Edwin had to laugh with her.   
  
"You know," he said, "Things would have been a lot simpler if Alexis had any interest in men too and if I'd been able to see her in that light. She and I probably would have gotten married and just run the store together like we do anyway. We three really were an incestuous little band. But––" he said, pausing, "I suppose if it  _had_  worked out that way, then we'd be getting a divorce anyway."   
  
"What? Why?" Wraith asked, intrigued as she always was about Edwin's friends.   
  
"Because I don't think I could've rightly stayed married to her after meeting you," Edwin told her softly.   
  
The humor faded slowly from Wraith's eyes, replaced by some deep emotion that warmed Edwin's heart.   
  
"Do you still feel it?" he asked her, touching a hand to her heart, "That connection between us?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith murmured. She leaned closer, pressing her forehead to his. "If anything it's stronger now. But do you want to know a secret?"   
  
Edwin made a soft consenting murmur that made Wraith smile all the more.   
  
"I'd love you without it," she whispered. "Whatever this is," she said, touching her hand to his heart as well, "It brought us together, but we have more than that now."   
  
"Yes," Edwin said, opening his eyes. He brought his hands up, cradling her face. He leaned forward, his lips brushing hers. "We have more."   
  
He kissed her again, deeper, more urgently. Wraith returned his kiss, but couldn't help but say with a smile, "Tea's going to go cold again."   
  
"Bugger the tea," Edwin said, a low growl in his voice.   
  
Wraith laughed as they fell back onto the bed and into each other's arms.     
  
  
  
  
The days passed, turning into weeks, and Wraith spent almost every night in Edwin's arms.   
  
There were nights that it wasn't safe for him to have her in the village; nights when the Death Eaters spent their evenings at the Hog's Head, trading poisons and information through the pub.   
  
But even when those nights came when they knew they wouldn't be together, they went back to spending time together in the forest. They wandered through the snowy paths of the woods, hand in hand and talked as they had always done.   
  
Wraith spent most of her days in the castle, either in the library or in her rooms, simply sitting quietly in her room. Snape knew without asking that during those quiet moments she was examining the link to the Dark Lord that lay so deep within her. But she said nothing of it to him and so he did not try to discuss it with her.   
  
She also spent a surprising amount of time speaking with the two former Headmasters that haunted the painting in her room. The girl had moved the portrait from above the mantle to hang near the table, so that they could face one another when they spoke. Snape wasn't sure how he felt about Wraith speaking so often with Dumbledore's portrait. It seemed so very out of the ordinary that he didn't know what to make of it at all.   
  
He and Wraith still spent time together, either when he would join her in the library or when she sought him out for a game of chess. He still found it easy to speak to the girl and the feeling seemed mutual. There were many things that neither of them felt comfortable talking about though, one of them being her relationship with Edwin.   
  
One night, during one of their many chess matches, Snape cautiously broached the subject despite his discomfort. He felt that he could keep silent about it no longer.   
  
"Wraith," he said, bringing her eyes up from the board, "concerning your…secret in the forest––"   
  
"What about him?" Wraith asked, frowning slightly.   
  
"I know that it's Rowle you're meeting out there."   
  
Her reaction wasn't at all what he expected. "I figured you would have guessed by now," Wraith told him with a shrug.   
  
"Well, to be perfectly honest…I didn't guess."   
  
Wraith's eyes went a little sharp. "Were you spying on me again, Severus?" she asked pointedly.   
  
"…I was," Snape admitted, prepared for the anger and annoyance that flashed through the girl's eyes. "It was many weeks ago, months actually. Before the Dark Lord left––even before you were shot. I was concerned," he told her when it looked as though she were going to interrupt, "I wanted to know what I was dealing with. So I followed you one day and I saw him."   
  
Wraith was silent for a very long time. "You could have told me this before now," she said at last, "You  _should_  have."   
  
"I know," Snape said.   
  
With a sigh, Wraith waved a hand to dismiss the subject. "Never mind it," she said, "It doesn't matter now."   
  
"I only thought you should know."   
  
"Thank you for that," Wraith said, "and thank you for being honest."   
  
"Are you seeing him again tomorrow?" Snape asked.   
  
"Naturally," Wraith replied with a smirk. She moved her knight across the board. "Check."   
  
With a muttered curse, Snape turned his attention back to the game.   
  
  
  
  
When the third week came, Edwin met Wraith on the path that led back to Hogsmeade. Wraith saw him waiting beneath the cover of the forest and her curiosity was peaked when she saw his smile.   
  
"What are you smiling about?" she asked him when he was close enough to hear her.   
  
His smile widened. "Maybe I'm just happy to see you."   
  
"Maybe," Wraith said, raising a brow, "and maybe you're lying. What is it?"   
  
"I have a surprise for you," Edwin said. He held out his hand, raising his own brow.   
  
Wraith narrowed her eyes, refusing to budge for a moment. Then, with a small smirk, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her down the path.


	32. Giving

_"The great art of giving consists in this: the gift should cost very little and yet be greatly coveted, so that it may be the more highly appreciated."_  
  
  
  
  
Edwin led her quickly through the woods and past the Shrieking Shack. It wasn't until they had reached his door at the top of the stairs that he spoke again. Still wearing that silly grin, he turned to face her before he opened the door.   
  
"Okay. Close your eyes."   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow and did not comply. Edwin rolled his eyes as he shook his head at her obstinacy.   
  
"Indulge me, love. Please."   
  
With a put-upon sigh, Wraith pointedly closed her eyes. Grinning again, Edwin pushed open the door and slowly led her inside. Keeping her eyes closed, she allowed Edwin to turn her around to face the door again, putting her back to the rest of the room.   
  
"Alright," Edwin said, "you can open your eyes."   
  
Wraith did so and the first thing she saw was the brightly wrapped gift in her love's hands. She blinked at it for a moment until understanding came to her. "Oh," she murmured.   
  
"It's a couple of days shy of Christmas," Edwin confessed, looking a little sheepish, "But I couldn't wait. Open it."   
  
Wraith gently took the gift from him and tore away the paper. She felt the smile tug at her lips when she realized what she held. "A music book," she said softly. It was a collection of love songs, something she'd never beheld before. She lifted smiling eyes to Edwin's. "Thank you," she told him, holding the book against her heart.   
  
"It's only part one," Edwin said. He touched her shoulders and turned her around to face the room.   
  
Wraith breath caught and she pressed a trembling hand to her lips.   
  
Set against the far wall of the little room was a well-worn and yet lovely upright piano.   
  
Understanding her reaction, Edwin wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Do you like it?" he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.   
  
"Edwin," Wraith said, turning in his arms to see his face. She put a hand at the back of his neck and pulled him down for a soft and sweet kiss, putting all of her feelings into it. "It's wonderful," she whispered.   
  
"A selfish gift," he murmured in reply, "I wanted to hear you play."   
  
Wraith slowly crossed the room to the piano, gently touching her fingertips to the keys. "Is it safe, though?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. "It won't disturb Aberforth below?" Her thoughts also went to the Death Eaters who often gathered at the pub in the evening.   
  
"There's a Silencing Charm on the room," Edwin told her. "You can play all you like and only my ears will hear it."   
  
Wraith smiled, biting her lower lip as she sat on the bench placed before the piano. Again, she ran her fingers lightly over the keys…and then she began to play.  _Greensleeves_ , still her favorite, drifted softly through the room. Edwin pulled a chair closer and straddled it, closing his eyes as he drew in the music she made. The melody seemed to carry on forever, yet when Wraith had finished she felt as if no time had passed at all.   
  
Joy was bright and brilliant in her eyes when she turned to look at Edwin. He slowly opened his eyes and smiled in return.   
  
"I love you," Wraith told him.   
  
"I love you too," he murmured back. "Will you play another?" he asked her then.   
  
"As many as you'd like," Wraith promised.   
  
  
  
  
When Wraith returned to the castle the next morning, she immediately locked herself within her rooms. To Snape and Phineas's surprise and discomfort, the girl had blacked out the painting in her room again, ensuring that she would not be disturbed.   
  
"Now what is that girl up to?" Snape murmured to himself when Phineas brought him the news.   
  
"It was a great deal easier to keep an eye on her before she knew we were there," Phineas complained.   
  
"In some ways," Dumbledore argued placidly, "She talks to us a great deal now, remember."   
  
Phineas nodded grudgingly and fell silent.   
  
Snape frowned as he stood and began to pace the room. "Do you suppose something of ill has happened between her and Rowle?" he asked the room at large.   
  
"She seemed cheerful enough this morning before she blocked the painting," Phineas said with a thoughtful frown of his own.   
  
"I wish the both of you patience," Dumbledore sighed, "For it seems neither of you have your share. Be calm, Severus, I'm certain that the girl is just fine."   
  
Snape scowled, but he did not argue with the portrait further.   
  
It was early evening before Wraith emerged from her rooms. Again, she surprised Snape by heading directly for his office. When she knocked on his door, he blinked as if he hadn't understood the sound.   
  
Frowning again, he stood and crossed to open the door for her.   
  
"Severus," she said, giving him a small and soft smile. She was clutching something to her heart as she entered the room. She glanced at the portraits, "Evening, Albus, Phineas."  
  
"Good evening, my dear," Phineas replied silkily.   
  
"And a Happy Christmas Eve," Dumbledore added with a cheerful smile.   
  
Wraith returned the smile before she turned back to Snape. "Speaking of Christmas," she said, "Here." She held out the package in her arms.   
  
The paper was silver and green, with black ribbon. Snape had to briefly admire the job of it, wondering if the colors were a nod to his former position as Head of Slytherin. Then he seemed to realize what he was holding.   
  
"You…you got me a gift?"   
  
"Made you one, actually," Wraith said with a twisted smile. She nodded to it when Snape continued to stare at her. "I think you're supposed to open it," she told him.   
  
Snape blinked at the package and then his eyes narrowed with speculation. It was soft, making him suspect that the gift was some kind of clothing. Giving Wraith a firm glare, he tore away the paper.   
  
His brow rose as he unfolded a cloak, a deep and encompassing black in color. "It's very fine," he said, running his hand over the fabric.   
  
"It's more than fine," Wraith said, her voice lilting with delight. "It's an invisibility cloak––of my own design," she added. "Put it on," she ordered.   
  
Snape sighed with resignation and threw the cloak over his shoulders. It fit very well, he thought, examining it. He raised an eyebrow at Wraith. "Invisibility cloak?"   
  
Wraith grinned exultantly. " _That_  is where my design comes in," she told him; "It only renders the wearer invisible when he  _wills_  it. Give it a try."   
  
Snape looked down at the cloak in surprise again and then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he found that he was unable to see himself. " _Well_ ," he breathed, very impressed. He closed his eyes once more and let out a breath.   
  
Wraith laughed brightly as he became visible again. "Do you like it?" she asked.   
  
"I do," Snape confessed. "I…I thank you for this, Wraith."   
  
"There's more," Wraith said, her tone betraying a darker edge. "While you wear this cloak, you are protected from offensive spells. It will even stop two of the Unforgivable Curses." Her eyes darkened. "Save for the worst."   
  
Snape was stunned and could find no words. He laid his hand over the cloak and suddenly felt as if he wore a shield. He lifted his eyes to Wraith's. "This must have cost you a great deal of magic," he said softly.   
  
Wraith smiled again, briefly looking down. "It's worth it," she said simply. "I made one for Edwin as well."   
  
"Did you?" Snape said, amused.   
  
"I've an interest in keeping those I care about alive," Wraith told him.   
  
Touched despite himself, Snape returned her smile. "Thank you again," he said. "I think this is the first gift I've received in…three years."   
  
"Three years?" Wraith repeated, blinking. "And what was the gift?"   
  
"If I recall correctly," Snape said, glancing at the portrait, "It was a pair of black woolen socks from Dumbledore; another Christmas present."   
  
Dumbledore smiled benevolently.   
  
"…I'm afraid you'll have to wait until tomorrow for your own gift," Snape added lightly, "…seeing as I completely forgot the date."   
  
Wraith laughed, "So did I," she confessed, "But Edwin gave me an early gift and it reminded me."   
  
"And what trinket did the boy give, if I may ask?"   
  
"He bought a piano," Wraith told him. Seeing Snape's eyes widen, she laughed again. "Now I can play for him," she explained. "I've wanted to do that for ages, and he's wanted to hear me."   
  
"A thoughtful gift," Snape said pensively. "He knows you well."   
  
Wraith's eyes softened as she crossed her arms over her heart. "He does," she agreed. After a moment's silence, she straightened and smiled brightly again. "Well," she said, "I'm off to see him. I  _may_  stay with him tomorrow, seeing as it will be Christmas, after all."   
  
"Then I will see you tomorrow evening," Snape said, nodding his head.   
  
Wraith hesitated a moment before she stepped to him and quickly embraced him. Snape froze at the sudden embrace––and then unbent enough to loosely hug her as well.   
  
"Happy Christmas, Severus," Wraith told him as she pulled away again.   
  
"Happy Christmas, Wraith."    
  
  
  
  
It wasn't long before Wraith was knocking at Edwin's door. He pulled open the door with a grin and stepped back so that she could enter. As he closed the door behind her, he saw that she was carrying a couple of gifts in her arms. When she saw that he'd noticed them, she flashed him a quick smile. Placing them on the table, she reached up to remove her cloak and toss it over a chair as she always did.   
  
Edwin crossed to her and studied the brightly wrapped packages on the tabletop. Bringing his eyes to her again, he smiled gently. "Wraith, you didn't have to get me anything."   
  
"I know," she replied, touching his cheek, "but I wanted to." She pushed the larger of the two gifts towards him. "Open this one first."   
  
Edwin grinned as he did so. Beneath the paper was a cloak, similar to the one Wraith had given Snape, but a very deep brown in color. Edwin's eyes widened as he unfolded it. "Wow," he said. He immediately threw the cloak over his shoulders, admiring the color and the weight of it.   
  
Wraith's eyes sparkled at seeing his delight and she explained the cloak's properties as she had for Snape. When she had finished explaining, Edwin's eyes were wide.   
  
"You're serious?" he asked her.   
  
"I thought you'd find it useful," Wraith said, smirking.   
  
Edwin laughed, "An understatement, surely." He touched a hand under her chin and leaned down to kiss her. "Thank you, love," he whispered. Unable to resist, he kissed her again.   
  
With difficulty, for it was so easy to get caught up in his kisses, Wraith pulled back with a laugh. "You've one more," she reminded him.   
  
Edwin picked up the smaller gift, a box that fit in his hand. He tore away the paper and lifted the lid of the plain black box beneath it.   
  
Inhaling deeply, he lifted the dark red-gold locket from the box, holding it up in the light. It was a simple oval, almost plain, but the gold shone softly in the firelight and it almost seemed to glow in his hand.   
  
Wraith watched his face carefully as she murmured, "Open it."   
  
Edwin found the clasp on the side of the locket and flipped it open. Bound inside the locket was a lock of raven-black hair. Edwin's eyes softened at the sight of it.   
  
"A lover's token," he murmured.   
  
"A bit old-fashioned," Wraith said gently, "But I thought it would suit a pair like us."   
  
Edwin closed the locket and then slipped the chain around his neck. He put an arm around Wraith's waist and pulled her closer. "I will wear this every day, close to my heart," he whispered in promise.   
  
"I was hoping you'd say that," Wraith murmured, smiling serenely. Her smile then turned to a mischievous grin as she curled her hands into his hair and pulled him into a kiss.   
  
Edwin groaned as her lips parted beneath his and he quickly tightened his hold on her. He lifted a hand to unclasp his new cloak and he threw it over Wraith's.   
  
A hunger that Wraith was becoming accustomed to burned just under her skin at his touch. Still grinning when she released him from the kiss, she took hold of his belt and pulled him over to the bed.   
  
Edwin returned her grin, tilting her head back so that his teeth could find the soft cool skin of her neck. Wraith felt herself sigh and she bit down on her lower lip when Edwin kissed the space just below her ear. She ran her fingernails lightly down the back of his neck, making him shiver unbidden.   
  
With a practiced hand, Wraith unbuttoned Edwin's shirt and he shrugged out of it. As he began to unlace her dress, their eyes met again.   
  
"Love you," Wraith mouthed the words.   
  
Edwin grinned and kissed her again. "I love you too," he whispered in her ear, his breath warm on her skin.   
  
Wraith shivered and then pushed him back onto the bed. Edwin landed with a grunt and then raised himself up on his elbows, looking up at her. Smirking wickedly, Wraith slipped out of her dress and crawled into the bed, straddling her lover's waist.   
  
"Happy Christmas," she said with a dark and wily look in her eyes.   
  
"Happy Christmas," Edwin replied, pulling her down to him.


	33. Christmas Day

_"If we have the opportunity to be generous with our hearts, ourselves, we have no idea of the depth and breadth of love's reach."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith was woken by a hand gently shaking her shoulder. She stirred, barely opening her eyes in the darkness.   
  
"Wraith?" she heard Edwin whisper to her, "It's almost dawn."   
  
"Mm––I thought I'd stay today," she said, turning on her side to face him, "It is Christmas after all."   
  
In the near black of the room, she saw Edwin smile at her. "Well," he said, drawing her closer to him, "in  _that_  case, let's get some more sleep."   
  
Wraith matched his smile as she wrapped her arms around him, settling her head at the crook of his shoulder. They were asleep again in minutes.   
  
It was late morning when Wraith felt herself wake once more. She was still entwined in Edwin's arms and he slept on beside her. Wraith shifted slightly so that she could see the pale sunlight falling through the window. For a few minutes she remained still, feeling terribly content to let the morning continue on without them.   
  
The happiness she felt was so very absolute that she wasn't quite able to fully trust it. As happy as she was to simply lay there forever in her lover's arms, a dark thought made its way into her mind like a snake, twisting her up inside. With a heavy sigh, Wraith carefully disentangled herself from Edwin's embrace, and stood. Taking hold of the extra blanket at the foot of the bed, she wrapped the soft cloth around her and moved to stand by the window, gazing out at the snow-covered street.   
  
It had been just over a month since the Dark Lord had taken his leave to continue his mysterious search––and there had been no word of his whereabouts. No sign that he was yet coming back.  _"I may be leaving sometime next month… I may be gone for some time…"_  Wraith realized as she scanned her memories that the Dark Lord had never once said out loud how long he would actually be gone. Perhaps it was simply because he did not know himself, but Wraith felt discomforted by the notion.   
  
 _There will be hell to pay when he returns_ , she thought, glancing back to the bed where her lover lay.   
  
Wraith quickly battled back against the despair that threatened at the thought of someday having to leave Edwin. It felt all too familiar to the despair that had had her attempting to leap from the highest tower of the castle.   
  
Edwin stirred in his sleep and Wraith froze, wondering if he would wake. But Edwin simply shifted to lay on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, and the blanket suddenly quite tangled around his legs.   
  
Wraith felt a stirring of affection as she watched him and was suddenly reminded why she had taken the chance of heartbreak in stride. It was worth it. Even if the Dark Lord were to return that very day, Wraith wouldn't have traded the past month for anything on earth.   
  
Smiling again, Wraith moved back to the bed, letting the blanket she'd wrapped around herself fall back onto the foot of the bed. She crawled across the tangled blankets and leaned down to softly press her lips to Edwin's. She felt him wake beneath her and was pleased when he slipped his arms around her.   
  
"Good morning," Edwin murmured when they finally broke the kiss.   
  
"Good morning," Wraith replied, smiling contentedly. "Awake now?"   
  
A quick and playful grin flashed across Edwin's face. "Oh, most certainly." In one quick motion, he reversed their positions so that Wraith lay beneath him. Wraith melted as his lips and teeth found the sensitive skin of her neck. In retaliation, she traced her nails down his back, making him shiver. Edwin laughed softly, "Wait," he said, "I have something for you."   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow at him and he suddenly realized the double meaning of his words.   
  
He snorted at his own foolishness and moved to the edge of the bed. "Not that," he told her.   
  
"You've already given me presents," Wraith reminded him.   
  
"It's just one more," he said, smiling despite the slightly defensive tone he'd adopted. He reached beneath the bed and pulled out a thin plain white box. "Look, I didn't even wrap it."   
  
Wraith took the box, surprised by how light it felt. She removed the lid, setting it on the floor beside the bed. "Oh," she breathed. She unfolded the thin silken material of the robe, admiring the cool feel of the fabric.   
  
Edwin grinned at her reaction. "I thought you might enjoy having something you can slip on––"   
  
"In between?" Wraith finished his thought archly.   
  
Edwin ducked his head to hide his wry smile. "Try it on," he suggested.   
  
Wraith smiled quickly and stood, slipping into the robe and tying it loosely around her waist. It fell to her ankles, just an inch from touching the floor. The silk felt wonderful against her skin and admiring the drape of it around her. She lifted her eyes to see Edwin's reaction and was pleased by the heat that had returned to his eyes.   
  
"Well, that's just funny," he said slowly, a smoldering grin coming to his lips, "I buy you something to wear and the moment I see you in it all I can think about is taking it off of you again."   
  
Wraith slowly smiled, the heat in his eyes igniting a similar flame in her. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she lifted a hand and crooked a finger, beckoning him to her.  
  
  
  
  
Sometime later Wraith slipped the robe back on, smiling like a fool as she did so. Edwin remained where he was, sprawled across the bed, his satisfied grin just as foolish as hers.   
  
"We're shameless," he said, shaking his head as he watched her cross to the counter to make tea.   
  
"Absolutely," Wraith agreed, smiling at him over her shoulder.   
  
Edwin sighed contentedly and then got out of bed, reaching for his jeans and slipped them on. He crossed to stand behind her and kissed her shoulder. "I'll do that," he said, "Why don't you play for me?"   
  
Wraith felt her smile soften and she turned into his arms, kissing him gently. "I can do that," she said, slipping from his hold and going to sit at the piano.   
  
Edwin took over the task of making tea as the music drifted from the piano to fill the little room. It took him a moment to recognize the melody she played. With another smile, he turned towards her, leaning against the counter. " _Carol Of The Bells_?"   
  
"Seemed appropriate," Wraith replied, never looking up from the keys.   
  
Edwin shook his head again and brought the tea over to the table, along with a couple of mugs. He poured the hearty black tea into one of the mugs, adding a liberal amount of honey and cream to it before he took it over to Wraith.   
  
"I like it," Edwin said, "I've never heard it on the piano before." He set her tea on the little end table that rested beside the piano. He fell silent as he crossed back to get his own tea, soothed by the music his lover played. He moved one of the chairs closer to the piano and straddled it, closing his eyes as he let the music drift over and around him.   
  
After a few songs, Wraith paused, reaching for the tea Edwin had brought her. "I thought maybe we'd go into the forest today," she said, turning on the bench so that she faced him instead of the piano. "You can test out your cloak."   
  
"I like the sound of that," Edwin said, his eyes bright with affection, "We can spend the day playing in the snow." He leaned over the back of the chair and pressed his lips to hers briefly. Then he stood, setting his tea down on the table. Wraith turned back to the piano to play again while Edwin got dressed.   
  
As he sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, he glanced over at her again. "I've got to go down and talk to Aberforth for a minute," he told her as he stood again. He crossed back to her and kissed the crown of her head. "I'll be right back, okay?"   
  
"Okay," Wraith said, tilting her head back to smile up at him.   
  
Unable to resist, Edwin kissed her forehead before he straightened. "Love you," he said simply.   
  
"Love you too," she replied, turning back to her music as he slipped through the door that led downstairs.    
  
Edwin was pleased to find that the pub was deserted on Christmas morning. Aberforth stood behind the bar, cleaning glasses apparently left from the night before.   
  
"Morning, Aberforth," Edwin said, taking a seat on one of the bar stools, "Business good last night?"   
  
Aberforth shrugged, being his usual taciturn self.   
  
"So," Edwin said, "Er, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing me a small favor."   
  
When Aberforth simply turned to him, saying nothing, Edwin grinned sheepishly.   
  
"It's a really small favor," he insisted, "Seeing as it's rather dangerous for me to go wandering the streets of Hogsmeade, I wondered if you wouldn't mind popping over to Rosmerta's and picking me up a bottle of her oak-matured mead…?"    
  
Aberforth raised an eyebrow at the boy and then glanced meaningfully at the stairs. "You're hiding a friend up there, aren't you?"   
  
Edwin's eyes widened and he coughed to try and hide his surprise. "What––er, what makes you say that?"   
  
Aberforth lifted his hand and tapped it to the side of his neck. Frowning suddenly, Edwin looked at the mirror set behind the bar. Paying close attention to his own neck he flushed at the slightly red mark there on his skin. He winced and rubbed his hand over it.   
  
"Oh, ah, yeah." He cleared his throat, ducking his head so that he wouldn't see the knowing look in Aberforth's eyes. "So, er, can you do me that little favor?"   
  
Aberforth shrugged again, "Sure."   
  
Edwin breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank you," he said. "I'll, er, see you later then." He stood and quickly ran back up the stairs.   
  
When he entered his room again, he saw that in his absence Wraith had decided to get dressed. She looked over at him when he came in and smiled at the look on his face.   
  
"What's made you so flustered?" she asked, tilting her head to one side.   
  
In answer, he tapped a finger to the mark on his neck. "Aberforth figured out that I have company."   
  
Wraith giggled and flushed a little herself. Still smiling, she crossed to her lover and touched her hand to the mark. When she dropped her hand again, the mark was gone. "Sorry about that," she told him.   
  
"Uh-huh, sure you are," Edwin said, wrapping his arms around her waist. "It's not fair at all, you know," he told her, "You heal too fast for me to leave a similar mark."   
  
Wraith laughed again, slipping her arms around his neck, "Oh, yes, what a pity."   
  
He heard the amusement very clearly in her voice and made a face at her.   
  
Slipping out of his hold, Wraith crossed to the table and picked up the cloak she'd given him. She threw it at him, grinning ear to ear. "Come on then, love," she said, "Let's go play."   
  
Edwin grinned right back and slipped the cloak on.   
  
Since the day was so very bright and no doubt people would be out and about, Wraith cast a charm to make herself invisible. Edwin closed his eyes, concentrating on the cloak he wore. A moment later he too had disappeared from sight. He felt Wraith take his hand in hers and quite suddenly they were standing at the edge of the forest near the Shrieking Shack.   
  
Once they had walked a good distance into the trees, Wraith became visible again and a moment later, so did Edwin.    
  
"Okay," Edwin said, looking down at his cloak, "This could come in  _very_  handy."   
  
"I thought so," Wraith said, still holding his hand in hers.   
  
The sun that made its way through the trees was bright and made the fresh snow around them glisten. Wraith led the way and Edwin was slightly surprised when she brought them to the heather field. The flowers that usually bloomed there were buried beneath the snow, but the field was beautiful nonetheless.   
  
Wraith released his hand and spun around, leaving circling tracks in the snow. Edwin watched her, delighted by the smile on her face. It felt good to see her so happy and calm.   
  
"It's lovely out here," Wraith said, closing her eyes and taking in the scent of the snow and pine around them.   
  
When Edwin said nothing, she opened her eyes again, frowning. Before she could turn to face him, she felt something soft and cold hit her in the center of her back.   
  
"Hey!" she said, as another snowball hit her shoulder.   
  
Edwin laughed and ducked behind the trees for cover. Wraith's eyes narrowed playfully as she knelt in the snow to retaliate. Edwin stuck his head out to see where she was and the snowball hit him dead in the face. Wraith laughed, the bell tone of it echoing across the clearing. She hurried towards the trees to find cover for herself before Edwin could get revenge.   
  
The battle went on until they were both breathless and cold.   
  
Worn out, but content Wraith fell back against one of the trees to catch her breath, "Shall we call it a draw?" she asked Edwin.   
  
"For the moment," he replied. He reached out to brush snow from her hair. "Hate to say it, but I ought to head back to the village and visit with Aly, take her gifts over."   
  
"Yeah," Wraith said with a sigh, "I should check in with Severus too."   
  
"Meet me back here in a couple of hours?"   
  
"Alright," Wraith said. She pulled him closer and kissed him.   
  
He held her close for a moment, reluctant to let her go even for a brief time. He kissed her cheek before he finally released her. "I love you," he murmured.   
  
"Love you too," she murmured back with a sigh.   
  
"See you in a bit," he told her.   
  
Wraith flashed him a smile before she disappeared into the trees, heading back to the castle. Edwin watched her go and then turned to make his own way back to the village.


	34. Beginnings

_"She did not talk to people as if they were strange hard shells she had to crack open to get inside. She talked as if she were already in the shell. In their very shell."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape glanced over at the door, mildly surprised by the gentle knock that came from the other side. Frowning slightly, he crossed from where he'd been standing at the window to open it. "Wraith," he said, his brow rising, "I did not expect you until this evening."   
  
Wraith smiled a little as she entered the office. "Edwin wanted to check in with Alexis," she explained, "So I thought I'd come and see you too."   
  
"Ah," Snape said, closing the door once again. He tilted his head slightly as he studied her. There was a light layer of snow upon her cloak and she looked flushed and cheerful. "You look…happy," he said simply.   
  
Wraith's smile widened at his statement. "I've had a good day," she said, shrugging. "I've had fun today. Edwin and I had a snowball fight out in the forest. I don't think I've ever done something simply for the fun of it before."   
  
Snape snorted in amusement as he sat down behind his desk.   
  
Wraith considered him as she too sat. "When was the last time  _you_  had fun, Severus?"   
  
Snape blinked. "Hmm…"   
  
Wraith laughed. "If you have to think that hard about it then it has been far too long," she told him.   
  
"True enough," Snape replied evenly. Then he smirked, "No, actually, I have an answer for you: The last time I won at chess."   
  
"Well that  _was_  a while ago, wasn't it?" Wraith said with a smirk of her own. "Want to try your luck again?" she asked him.   
  
"Certainly," Snape replied, "But before we engage in our little war again––Here." He reached down and opened a drawer of the desk, taking out a wrapped package from within.   
  
Wraith's brow rose when he offered it to her. She had entirely forgotten that he'd said he would have a Christmas gift for her that day. She examined the package before she opened it, guessing by the weight and feel that it might have been another music book. Feeling delighted at the thought, she tore away the paper to see if she was right.   
  
"Oh," she said softly, running a hand over the ornate cover of the book. It had no title and when she opened it to a random page she saw that the book was filled with blank lined paper. "It's blank," she murmured, "A blank music book."   
  
"I've heard you tinkering with melodies not from your books more than once," Snape told her, "Now, if you like, you can write them down."   
  
Wraith lifted her eyes to his, "Severus, this is wonderful.  _Thank you_."   
  
Snape shifted slightly in his seat, unsure of how he felt about the sincere delight in the girl's eyes. "I'm glad you like it," he said after a moment when nothing else came to mind. "Though, to be honest, I believe your gift to me will be far more useful."   
  
"That depends on how you look at it," Wraith said.   
  
Snape was surprised by the grave tone underlying her words. "And how do you look at it?" he felt compelled to ask.   
  
Wraith held up the book, "I use music to help keep me sane. You've given me another outlet for that. I'd say that's fairly useful." She smiled at the carefully blank look on Snape's face. "Come on," she told him, getting to her feet, "To war we go."   
  
Snape snorted, shaking his head at her use of words. "War indeed," he muttered, following her out of the office.   
  
As the door shut behind them, Dumbledore opened one bright blue eye and smiled after them.   
  
  
  
  
A couple of hours later, Wraith said her goodbyes to Snape and headed out to the forest once more. Edwin was waiting for her in their clearing when she arrived. It took her a moment to realize that he was dressed differently than he'd been that morning. Tilting her head to one side as she approached him, she reached out a hand to touch the sweater he wore.   
  
Seeing the question in her eyes, Edwin smiled sheepishly. "Aly's Christmas gift to me," he explained. He held up his arm so Wraith could see the soft golden brown fabric better, "She likes to knit every now and then."   
  
"It looks good on you," Wraith said, "The color suits you."   
  
Edwin flushed slightly and shook his head. "Ah, there's something else," he said hesitantly. "She wasn't sure––I mean––She knows that you two haven't met yet or anything, but––"   
  
"Edwin love, spit it out," Wraith told him, laughter edging into her voice.   
  
Rather than reply aloud, he took something from his cloak and passed it to her. Wraith frowned slightly at what she held, for it was obviously a gift. She slowly tore away the paper to reveal another sweater; this one in a deep, almost black, blue color.   
  
"She…she made me one too?"   
  
"Yeah," Edwin said softly, "She told me to tell you…that it's kind of a 'thank you'…for making her best friend so happy."   
  
Unbelievably touched, Wraith was shocked to discover she had tears in her eyes and she found that she couldn't speak over the lump in her throat.   
  
"Oh, Wraith," Edwin all but laughed, pulling her into his arms, "Don't cry. I don't want to have to tell Aly you cried."   
  
Wraith shook her head, burying her face in her lover's shoulder. After a moment, she sniffed and lifted her face again. "I'm fine," she told him, smiling despite the wetness still on her cheeks. "Just…tell her that I said 'thank you'."   
  
"I will," Edwin assured her. "The sweater might be a little big. I don't think Aly believed me when I told her how tiny you were."   
  
Wraith laughed and Edwin was glad to hear it. He leaned down, gently pressing his lips to hers. Wraith's heart fluttered at the sweetness he put behind the kiss.   
  
"Let's head back to the village," he said after they had pulled away.  
  
Wraith smiled happily at the thought, but for a moment she wrapped her arms around his neck, touching her cheek to his. "I love you," she murmured, the words slipping from her unconsciously.   
  
Edwin held her close, smiling too. "I know," he said, making her laugh again. He kissed her cheek and then her lips once more, "I love you too."  
  
  
  
  
A few days later, Wraith spent her evening as she usually did with Edwin. Wrapped in the robe he'd given her for Christmas, she sat on the bed they so often shared, an open book in her lap. Edwin was over on the other side of the room, fiddling around the pathetic excuse he called his kitchen.   
  
Wraith felt warm and complacent where she was, enjoying the crackling of the fire and the soft hissing sound of falling snow just outside the window. She looked up from her book when she heard Edwin walking back over to the bed and was surprised when he offered her a goblet.   
  
"It's midnight," he told her, sitting on the edge of the bed, another goblet in his hand. With a soft smile, he held up his goblet, "Happy New Year, love."   
  
"New Year's," Wraith murmured, "I'd forgotten." With a smile of her own, she touched the edge of her goblet to his in a toast. Sipping delicately at the liquid within, she discovered she enjoyed it immensely. "What is this?" she asked him.   
  
"Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead," Edwin replied, grinning, "Aberforth was kind enough to procure me a bottle a couple of days ago. I thought you might like to celebrate."   
  
"Hm," Wraith said, looking down at the drink in her hand, "To the beginning of my third year of freedom then," she said, lifting the goblet again, "May it be better than the ones that have passed before."   
  
"Well said, love," Edwin said, lifting his goblet in return.   
  
"So December passes us by now," Wraith said, "and another month begins."   
  
Edwin saw a light come to her eyes, but before he could ask, she quickly looked to him.   
  
"Edwin, do you suppose you could find me something? I think Alexis could help too…"   
  
"What is it?" he asked, curious.   
  
"A surprise for a friend," Wraith replied with a playful smile.    
  
  
  
  
It was a little over a week later when Snape entered his office to find something on his desk that had not been there the night before. His first thought was suspicion, for it looked like a simple, plainly wrapped box, a nondescript sort of brown.   
  
 _Now how did that get here?_  He thought as he crossed to the desk to look at it more closely,  _and more to the point––where did it come from?_    
  
"I don't think it's going to bite you, Headmaster," Phineas drawled lazily from his portrait.   
  
Snape turned to glare briefly at the portrait before he turned his gaze back to the package. "I don't suppose you were useful enough to be awake when it appeared here?" he asked dryly.   
  
Phineas shrugged, his dark eyes pointed skyward. "Oh…who remembers such trifling things?"   
  
Snape scowled and rolled his eyes, frustrated with the portrait's lack of help.   
  
"Perhaps you should open it…?" Dumbledore suggested lightly.   
  
Now Snape turned his glare upon Dumbledore. "…Did  _Wraith_  bring this up?" he demanded to know.   
  
"As I said," Dumbledore replied, "Perhaps you should open it."   
  
Taking Dumbledore's enigmatic reply as an affirmative, Snape wondered what the girl was up to. With a frustrated sigh, he sat down at his desk and pulled the small package towards him. Throwing one more suspicious glance over his shoulder at Dumbledore, Snape proceeded to open the box.   
  
He blinked, uncomprehendingly at the thin book within. Frowning slightly, he lifted the book from the box and opened it to the title page.   
  
"I'll be damned," the man muttered, his brow rising, "It's a first edition collection of Lord Alfred Tennyson's work." He looked to Dumbledore, still not quite understanding. "Why would she––?"   
  
"Severus, have you forgotten the date?" Dumbledore asked him with half a laugh.   
  
"It's…Good lord, it's the ninth," Snape belatedly remembered, "You…you told her when my birthday was?"   
  
"I didn't volunteer the information," Dumbledore told him, "She asked me. I didn't see any harm in telling her."   
  
Snape looked down at the book in a sort of numbed shock. "Huh." He flipped through the pages at random, coming to a stop at a familiar piece of prose.   
  
  
 _I wage not any feud with Death_  
 _For changes wrought on form and face;_  
 _No lower life that earth's embrace_  
 _May breed with him, can fright my faith._  
  
 _Eternal process moving on,_  
 _From state to state the spirit walks;_  
 _And these are but the shattered stalks,_  
 _Or ruined chrysalis of one._  
  
 _Nor blame I Death, because he bare_  
 _The use of virtue out of earth:_  
 _I know transplanted human worth_  
 _Will bloom to profit, otherwhere._  
  
 _For this alone on Death I wreak_  
 _The wrath that garners in my heart;_  
 _He put our lives so far apart_  
 _We cannot hear each other speak._  
  
  
Snape remembered reading that same poem in his childhood––as did he remember coming across the poem again shortly after Lily's death. He took a deep and shuttering breath and closed his eyes against the all too familiar pain.   
  
But when he opened his eyes again, he found himself smiling slightly. "She has a kind heart," he murmured, closing the book. "It's a wonder how she came to have it, with the life she's had." He sat back in his chair with a sigh. "But why didn't she bring it up herself? She did with the Christmas present she brought me."   
  
"That would have been my suggestion," Dumbledore admitted. "She wanted to surprise you with it and thought you might accept it easier without her presence."   
  
Snape had to admit that it was probably true. He had grown quite unused to giving or receiving gifts. There was simply no one to exchange such things with.   
  
Dumbledore saw the thoughts whirling around in Snape's eyes and smiled at the bemused pleasure he saw there as well. "Happy Birthday, Severus," the former Headmaster said simply.   
  
"Well, here's hoping it won't be my last," Snape replied dryly.


	35. The Sword of Gryffindor

_"It has always been the prerogative of children and half-wits to point out that the emperor has no clothes. But the half-wit remains a half-wit, and the emperor remains an emperor."_  
  
  
  
  
As December had passed them by, so did January, February, and March. With the month of April came spring rains to melt away the remnants of the winter snow. The forest became green again and Wraith and Edwin's field of heather grew bright once more.   
  
But despite the love and happiness that being with Edwin brought to her, with the passing days and weeks Wraith felt the anxiety wrapping around her heart like a thin wire. The more time that went by, the tighter that wire became. She did not speak of it, nor did Edwin and Snape. No one wished to say the words aloud, but they were all thinking it.  _Why had the Dark Lord not yet returned?_  
  
Regardless of the question and the apprehension that shadowed Wraith's mind, she was grateful for the continued time with her love. When she had first given herself to Edwin and accepted their love, she had expected only weeks with him at most. To have had months pass without the dark shadow of the Dark Lord's return was more than she could have hoped for.   
  
But the part of Wraith that was still the servant of Lord Voldemort quietly wondered how much longer it would be before his enemies noted his prolonged absence and took advantage of it.  
  
  
  
  
"Oh, sweet merciful gods," Edwin breathed as he fell back against the bed.   
  
Wraith collapsed on top of him, her pulse still racing with the aftershocks of their love-making. She laughed softly at the amazement in her lover's breathless voice.   
  
Edwin lifted his hand and pressed it against the small of her back, holding her close as he kissed her neck. Then he lifted his head slightly. "I can't feel my legs."   
  
Again, Wraith laughed. She straightened up and glanced over. "Don't worry," she said over a Cheshire grin, "they're still there."   
  
Edwin echoed her laughter and pulled her back down so that he could kiss her. With a sigh, Wraith slipped away from him to the edge of the bed. She brushed her hair back, quickly twisting it into the loose braid. Edwin sat up and watched with a smile as she reached for her clothing. It was just before dawn and they both knew she had to be gone before the sun reached the sky.   
  
As Wraith pulled on the dark blue sweater Aly had given her months before, Edwin's smile widened and he thought, not for the first time, that he was rather fond of seeing his lover wearing only that sweater. The soft fabric clung to her thin frame in a flattering way and it reached mid-way down her thigh. Half the time Wraith reached for that sweater rather than the silk robe he'd given her and he couldn't find it in him to complain about it.   
  
Wraith glanced back at him before she reached for the black trousers she most often wore with the sweater. Seeing the appreciative look in his eyes, she was warmed by it. But when their eyes met, she caught a hint of the unease in his gaze. "What is it, love?" she asked softly, sitting on the edge of the bed again.   
  
Edwin hesitated before he spoke, "Has there been no word?"   
  
Wraith stiffened, for she knew precisely what he spoke of. She turned her head away so that he could not see her face. "Nothing," she murmured, "still nothing."   
  
"Do you know where he is?" Edwin asked her, "Can you sense it?"   
  
"No," Wraith replied, her tone only a little sharp to show her displeasure at the questions. She sighed and shook her head, "He's too far away for that. I don't know where he is––All I know is that he's looking for something––and I don't even know what it is he's looking for."   
  
Edwin's face hardened slightly. He had heard the bitterness in her voice––and that faint trace of longing. "Love, sometimes it feels like I only share you with him."   
  
Wraith's heart skipped a beat at those simple words, spoken so calmly. With effort, she turned slightly towards Edwin with a smile. "The difference being that I'm not in love with the Dark Lord." She started to stand, but Edwin grabbed her arm and held her still.   
  
Looking into her eyes, he said, "But you  _do_  love him."   
  
For an impossibly long moment, Wraith couldn't look away from him, couldn't find the words to say to that.   
  
"…That's not the word I'd use," she said at last, pulling herself free of his hold.   
  
Edwin sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "But it's damn close, isn't it?"   
  
"I love  _you_ ," Wraith told him, her tone slightly desperate.   
  
"I know," Edwin said quickly, moving to the edge of the bed. He put his hands at her waist, drawing her back to him. Wraith let out a breath when he rested his forehead on her stomach and she touched a hand to his dark gold hair.   
  
"I  _will_  free myself of his hold," Wraith murmured, "But you know that to do that I have to go back. When he returns, I'll have to go to him." She reached down, touching gentle fingers beneath his chin. She lifted his face so that she could see his eyes. "You  _do_  know that I'll find my way back to you, don't you?"   
  
"Yes," Edwin said simply, the conviction clear on his face. "I know you will. I just dread the time apart that will have to come."   
  
"So do I," Wraith whispered. She leaned down and gently pressed her lips to his, pouring all that she felt for him into the gesture. When she pulled back, she was happy to see Edwin smile up at her. There was honesty and trust in his smile that she had desperately needed to see. She smiled in return and reluctantly pulled herself free of his arms. "I have to go," she said, though it was clear that she wished to stay. "I'll be back tonight, as soon it's dark."   
  
"I'll be waiting," Edwin said, standing up so that he could wrap his arms around her again. "I love you," he told her.   
  
"I love you too," she murmured back. With one last kiss, Wraith stepped away from him and disappeared from sight.        
  
  
  
  
The conversation was not forgotten by either one of them, but they did not speak of it again. Both believed that all the words that could be found had already been said and only time would change it.   
  
The days began to pass quickly again in Wraith's mind and nearly two weeks passed before she had even realized it. The sky, for the first time in weeks, was clear and bright with the stars that would fade with the dawn that edged closer. She walked leisurely through the woods, still smiling as she had been when she'd left Edwin's embrace. She was rather desperately tired and looking forward to collapsing in her own bed for a couple of hours before facing the day.   
  
At the front doors of the castle she glanced back towards the forest and couldn't help but grin one last time before stepping inside.   
  
Her smile immediately vanished once she had crossed the threshold. Something was wrong. There was a shimmer of magic that had not been there the night before. Wraith traced it up to the seventh floor and she felt a flash of worry for Snape. She hurried up the stairs and down the corridors towards his office, frankly fearing the worst.   
  
As she turned that final corner, her heart all but stopped at the sight of Snape lying prone on the floor in front of his office. Wraith drew in a sharp breath and ran towards him.   
  
"Severus?" she cried, swiftly falling to her knees beside him. She touched a hand to his chest and was ridiculously grateful for the heartbeat she found there.   
  
But before she could breathe her sigh of relief, she heard a soft  _click_  in the air above her. It was an all too familiar sound.   
  
"You know, I'm really starting to hate those things," she remarked dryly as she lifted her eyes to see the revolver pointed at her.   
  
Bringing her eyes a little higher, she was rather unsurprised to see Harry Potter standing before her. He was doing his best to keep his face blank, but in Wraith's opinion he was failing.   
  
"Well, we're not about to give up something we know works against you," he told her.   
  
Wraith considered him, now feeling the presence of two others standing somewhere to her left. "Any physical weapon would do the trick, actually," she said, "But frankly, you don't strike me as the kind to enjoy blades." She tilted her head slightly to one side, smirking just a little. "I suppose a gun gives you distance, rather like your wand. You don't have to get too close. Have you been practicing with guns,  _Chosen One_?"   
  
Harry swallowed audibly, but his hand was steady. "Stand up," he told her firmly.   
  
"No," Wraith replied, just as firm.   
  
"Just stand up!" Harry told her again, a line of sweat beading on his forehead.   
  
"I said no," Wraith repeated, leaning a little farther over Snape as if to shield him. "Your hatred for Severus Snape is well known, Chosen One. I'll not give you the opportunity to cause him further harm."   
  
"He isn't 'harmed'," Harry said, "We only stunned him."   
  
"Which is why the lot of you are still breathing," Wraith all but snarled. "What do you want?" she demanded harshly.   
  
Harry blinked at her, slightly bewildered by her forwardness. He glanced at Ron and Hermione as if looking for an answer.   
  
Wraith sighed irritably, drawing his attention back to her. "Let me rephrase the question," she said, "––How do I get you to leave?"   
  
Again, Harry looked to his friends briefly. "…We need to get into the office," he said at last. "The passage closed before we got the chance to stop it. We don't know the password. …Can you open it?"   
  
Wraith waited a moment, looking up at him. Then she turned her head slightly to the side. Ron and Hermione jumped as the gargoyle they stood beside suddenly moved away from the staircase hidden behind it. Wraith looked back to Harry. "Will that do?" she asked dryly.   
  
Harry glared at her, unnerved by her calm. "You two go on up," he told Ron and Hermione. "…I'll guard them."   
  
"Harry…" Hermione said, hesitating.   
  
"Just hurry," Harry told her.   
  
Ron nodded and took Hermione's hand, pulling her quickly up the spiral staircase. The moment they were out of sight, Wraith turned the full force of her eyes on Harry again.   
  
There was something about Potter that put her hackles up, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Was it simply because he was the greatest enemy of the Dark Lord? She didn't think that was it. But whatever the reason, she knew she'd been glad to see the last of him.   
  
Harry kept glancing between her and the staircase, watching for his friends' return. Then he simply looked at Wraith. "…Where is the locket?" he asked her bluntly.   
  
Wraith's eyes widened as the flash of surprise went through her. Then they narrowed dangerously.   
  
 _"This locket belonged to my honored ancestor a thousand years ago––you are to hide it so that no witch or wizard, save myself, will be able to find it—and there are those that will try."_    
  
"…Far beyond your reach, for the moment, Chosen One," she said slowly.   
  
"Would you stop calling me that?" Harry demanded.   
  
"No," Wraith said, almost pleasantly, "I like the way it gets under your skin."   
  
Harry scowled and his hands shook a little.   
  
"Are you afraid of me?" Wraith asked him.   
  
"Yes," Harry replied tersely.   
  
"Good. Then you're not a fool."   
  
"I remember what you did to Vaisey," Harry told her, "You set his hand on fire and let him burn."   
  
"Well, he  _was_  about to stab me in the back with a knife," Wraith said conversationally, "So I can't really say I regret that."   
  
"Heard that he got away from you again, though."   
  
"Yes, he did," Wraith said with a sneer, "But if my Lord gives the orders to hunt him again, he won't get away from me a third time."   
  
Puzzlement crossed Harry's face. "Why hasn't he sent you already?"   
  
"The Dark Lord has more important things to worry about than that bit of slime."   
  
"…And you won't go after him on your own?"   
  
Wraith sighed in a bored manner. "I've no interest," she said, "Though I'm certain I'll catch up to him eventually."   
  
They both glanced at the staircase at the sound of approaching footsteps. Harry looked to Wraith quickly, as if something had just occurred to him.   
  
"…This gun wouldn't really stop you, would it?"   
  
Wraith slowly brought her eyes up to his. She smiled. "Clever boy," she whispered, "No––it really wouldn't." She turned her head slightly so she could see Ron and Hermione reach the bottom of the staircase. Wraith's eyes widened briefly when she saw what Hermione was carrying.  
  
The girl held the Sword of Gryffindor in her hand.   
  
"Got what you came for?" Wraith asked wryly.   
  
Hermione shot her a nervous glance before she nodded to Harry. Ron was still holding Hermione's other hand. "Let's go," he said quickly, his eyes on Wraith and filled with fear.   
  
But Harry didn't move.   
  
Wraith looked up at him, curious as to why he hesitated. "You should leave," she told him lightly.   
  
Harry lowered the gun, and both of his friends inhaled sharply. Ron made a move as if to cross to Harry, but Harry shook his head. His eyes still on Wraith, he asked, "Why are you just letting us go?"   
  
"I don't give a bloody damn what you do, boy," Wraith told him. "You are not my concern. And my Lord isn't here to chastise me for letting you escape. I simply want you gone from here."   
  
"That isn't it," Harry insisted.   
  
Wraith licked her lips, thinking. "…Then call it repayment for a favor you didn't know you had done me," she said simply. Something akin to embarrassment flashed in Harry's eyes and Wraith's brow rose. "…Or do you know?"   
  
"The day we attacked the Ministry last July––I saw your face, just a flash, through his eyes…You looked terrified."   
  
"And so I was," Wraith said softly. "You provided a distraction for me…and I do appreciate that." She cleared her throat and glanced at the others. "But…my appreciation only goes so far. I'm giving you this one chance to run––Take it now."   
  
Harry needed no further encouragement. He hurried past her to join his friends and within moments they had disappeared around the corner.   
  
Wraith waited until she was certain they were gone and then smiled down at Snape. "Hear most of that?" she asked him.   
  
Snape opened his eyes, smirking slightly. "Yes, thank you." He slowly sat up, feeling a little stiff from the cold stone floor.   
  
"You owe me  _big_  time for that," Wraith told him bluntly. "I can only assume that you  _wanted_  them to get that sword. That's the only way they could have gotten away with stunning you."   
  
"Clever girl," Snape replied, climbing to his feet with the slightest wince.   
  
Wraith stood as well and put a hand on her hip. "What do they want with that sword anyhow?" she asked him.   
  
"Do you really want to know?" Snape asked in return, raising a brow.   
  
"…No, I suppose not," Wraith replied lightly. "Well, I need some more sleep. We'll talk about this later, alright?"   
  
"As you wish," Snape replied. "And Wraith? Thank you."


	36. Omnia Vincit Amor

_"To be brave is to love someone unconditionally, without expecting anything in return. To just give. That takes courage, because we don't want to fall on our faces or leave ourselves open to hurt."_  
  
  
  
  
Several hours later, Wraith knocked upon Snape's office door. When she stepped inside, her eyes immediately went to the sword case behind Snape's desk. Her eyes widened and blinked at the sight of the sword still resting inside.   
  
"Okay," she said slowly, "I'm confused."   
  
Snape smirked slightly and led her over to the desk to sit. "It's a replica," he told her, "A very good forgery of Dumbledore's hand."   
  
"The true sword was hidden in the compartment behind my portrait here," Dumbledore told her, "Which I was happy to point out to Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger when they came to take it."   
  
"I see," Wraith said, impressed despite herself, "That's very clever." Then she suddenly grinned, "Oh, and it's perfect, for now the Dark Lord doesn't even have to know the sword is gone."   
  
"Precisely," Snape said with a nod of his head. "Wraith," he began as he sat down, "I want to thank you again for your help this morning. You didn't have to play along."   
  
"I know," Wraith said, "But it made your life easier, didn't it?"   
  
"Remarkable so," Snape admitted, "But Wraith…You said that you wouldn't help me."   
  
"I said I wouldn't help you kill him," Wraith corrected him blandly. "I didn't say I wouldn't help you in other ways. And if this indirectly leads to his death, then, as I said before––so be it." She smiled slowly, glancing at Dumbledore's portrait. "You didn't expect them to come here, did you?"   
  
"Not in the slightest, to be honest," Snape said. "But it did make the task of getting the boy the sword much less complicated."   
  
"They've begin to notice his absence," Wraith murmured, her mind whirling, "His enemies will keep making advances the longer he is gone. Doesn't he realize this?"   
  
"Most are still too afraid to chance it," Snape told her, "But yes, you are right. People have begun to notice. There are rumors abound that both you and he are dead, but no one dares confirm it. The fear the Dark Lord has sown around you both is very effective."   
  
"The Order knows that I'm alive," Wraith pointed out.   
  
"But they are not likely to spread that bit of information beyond themselves," Snape said, "It does them no good to do so, and it might attract the attention of the Dark Lord if it were to get out that they're aware of your survival."   
  
Wraith considered that in silence and then she nodded, "I see what you mean." She sighed and sat back in her chair. "So what now?" she asked, "Back to the waiting game?"   
  
"I suppose so," Snape replied.   
  
"I could hate him for this absence alone," Wraith muttered darkly, "I hate not knowing what he's up to."   
  
"Agreed."   
  
Wraith tilted her head to one side as something else occurred to her. "Damn. Perhaps I should have asked Potter if he knows where the Dark Lord is. He might even know that the Dark Lord is hunting." When Snape's eyes narrowed, Wraith smiled slightly. "The Dark Lord is in Potter's head too, you know. But Potter gets more than I do. I can sense my Lord's presence, and I'm getting better at reading his moods, but _Potter_ ––He's seen through the Dark Lord's eyes, heard the way he thinks. I'd be willing to bet that the boy knows where he is and what he's looking for."   
  
"Better not to have asked him, I think," Snape said, "It might give the wrong impression to the enemy, as it were."   
  
"Yes, I suppose so," Wraith admitted with a shrug.   
  
"And why do you keep calling him 'boy'?" Snape had to ask her, "Potter is a month  _older_  than you."   
  
"Is he really?" Wraith asked, amused, "I had no idea we were so close in age."   
  
"So why?"   
  
"I don't know," Wraith said, "Out of contempt, I suppose. There's something about Potter I don't like. I couldn't tell you what it is, though."    
  
Snape had no reply for that, but he filed the information away for another time.   
  
Wraith stood up and came around the side of the desk. To Snape's surprise, she leaned down and touched her forehead to the side of his. "I'm glad that you weren't hurt," she told him as she straightened again.   
  
He looked up at her, "Did you mean what you said to Potter? That you let them live because they didn't do me further injury?"   
  
"Oh, yes," Wraith replied, with all seriousness. "I don't allow people to hurt my friends. They are far too few and precious to me."   
  
Again, Snape found that he had nothing to say. Wraith seemed to understand his silence and moved away again, walking back to the door.   
  
"There's something I'm going to try," she told him, "I won't be long."   
  
Snape nodded to her as she slipped through the door and was gone.   
  
"That girl is just  _full_  of surprises, isn't she?" Phineas asked a moment later, breaking the silence.   
  
"An understatement, surely," Snape replied dryly.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith stood at the edge of the lake, taking in the scent of rain in the air. The sky was only lightly shaded by clouds, but Wraith suspected that it would rain sometime by the afternoon. The world around her was still and quiet, perfect for what she needed.   
  
Taking a deep breath, Wraith closed her eyes and reached inside herself for her power. She then extended her senses along with the power, finding the borders of Hogwarts with her mind. She stretched out towards the front gates and deep into the Forbidden Forest, circling around the castle itself as well.   
  
Once she had found the borders, already marked by Wizarding magicks, she set her own powers along the very same lines. She kept the power thin, using the bare minimum of what she needed for what she had in mind. She laid her power along the border and slowly came back to herself when she was sure it was firmly set.   
  
Opening her eyes again, Wraith smiled in triumph. It was a weak spell, but it was all she wanted. She would now know the moment that someone enter the grounds, be they friend or enemy. There would be no more surprises akin to that morning's.   
  
As if he had sensed she was finished with her work, Fang suddenly came barreling towards her from Hagrid's open door. He barked happily as he reached her and jumped up to put his front paws on her shoulders.   
  
"Good morning, Fang," Wraith said around a laugh, struggling a little under the dog's heavy weight. "Good boy. Where's your ball?"   
  
Fang jumped back down and went tearing back towards the hut, sniffing around the ground for his toy. As he came running back to her with it, Hagrid stepped out of his hut and looked around to see her. She lifted a hand to wave before Fang dropped the ball at her feet. Wraith knelt and picked it up.   
  
"Okay, Fang," she said to the bounding dog, "Go get it!"   
  
She threw the ball as hard as she could, unsurprised when it didn't go that far. She sighed as Hagrid came up beside. The larger man knelt on the ground so that their faces were closer together.   
  
"He likes ye, Fang does," Hagrid told her.   
  
"Good. I like him back," Wraith replied as the dog raced back to them. Wraith took the ball from his mouth, disregarding the slobber. She held her arm back and threw it again, getting a much better distance this time. "So," she said, quite conversationally, as they both watched the dog run after the ball, "did you help Potter sneak into the castle?"   
  
Hagrid turned bright red and then paled dangerously. His mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound emerged.   
  
Wraith spared him a glance. "Relax. I'm not going to tattle on you. To do so would be tattling on myself as well, since I was the one who let him escape."   
  
"Why'd ye do that?" Hagrid asked her, climbing to his feet.   
  
"They'd stunned Severus. I was more concerned with his welfare than I was with Potter. Besides," she added darkly, "It's the Dark Lord's own fault for being gone so long."   
  
Hagrid stared at her. "…Yer a strange one," he said at last, "I don' know what t' make o' ye."   
  
With an enigmatic smile, Wraith turned on her heel and strode back to the castle, leaving Hagrid looking bewildered on the bank of the lake.     
  
  
  
  
  
Music, soft and melodic, filled the little room above the Hog's Head. Wraith sat at the piano, her eyes closed as her fingers drifted over the ivory that drew the music out.   
  
The music came to an abrupt halt however and Wraith's eyes flew open, the slightest trace of irritation in them. With a sigh, she lifted a quill from its stand upon the piano and made a change on the page in her music book.   
  
"Still giving you fits?" she heard Edwin ask her from the bed.   
  
"I'll figure it out eventually," Wraith said wryly. "This is the first time I've ever tried actually writing a song. I suppose it's only natural that it's slow going."   
  
The melody she was working on was somewhat based on the brighter tune that had been stuck in her head for months. She just couldn't seem to let it go.   
  
"So, does the Order know what Potter and his friends did a few days ago?" she asked, her mind only half on the question.   
  
"I've no idea," Edwin told her, "I've rather fallen out of the loop. Aly might know––Which I find funny since she's never actually been in the Order." He sat up in the bed. "Are you certain you're not going to get in trouble for letting Harry make off with the sword?"   
  
"The Dark Lord doesn't even need to know the sword is gone," Wraith reminded him. She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled warmly. "Don't worry," she said, "Neither Severus or I have any intention of letting that little tidbit get back to our Lord. We're safe."   
  
When Edwin smiled in return, she turned back to the music and tried once more to add to it. As she studied what she had written of the song so far, she heard Edwin get up from the bed and cross the room to her. She smiled when he put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her cheek.   
  
"Do you know what today is?" he asked her softly.   
  
Wraith had to think about it. "It's the twentieth of April," she said slowly. And then it clicked in her mind what Edwin was talking about. "We met a year ago today."   
  
"Well remembered," Edwin said. "It only occurred to me this morning after you'd left, but––I have something for you."   
  
Wraith turned her head slightly so that she could see his face, but before she could say anything he held something in front of her eyes.   
  
"Edwin…"   
  
It was a ring; a simple and thin golden band. She reached up to take the ring in her hand and studied it. There was an inscription inside of the band. "… _Omnia Vincit Amor_ ," she read slowly in a whisper.   
  
"'Love conquers all'," Edwin translated, resting his head against hers, "And I have faith that it will."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes briefly as she felt herself smile. Without hesitation, she slipped the golden band on her ring finger and opened her eyes to see it glitter there. "It's a promise," she whispered. She turned her head so that her eyes met Edwin's. "I want to be your wife someday, Edwin Rowle," she told him, lifting her hand to touch his cheek.   
  
"Someday you will be," Edwin said. He leaned down, touching his lips to hers.   
  
Wraith turned her body on the piano bench so that she could wrap her arms around Edwin's neck and hold him closer. Edwin slipped one arm around her waist and the other under her legs. He lifted her up into his arms, making her laugh with surprise as he carried her over to their bed.   
  
The night surrounded and took them––and for another night the outside world meant nothing to them.


	37. Endings

_"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."_  
  
  
  
  
It was a little more than two weeks later that Snape noticed the addition to Wraith's attire. The night was late and the castle was being bombarded with heavy rain. It was an unusually night, for Edwin had warned his lover that the Death Eaters were meeting at the Hog's Head and it was not entirely safe for her to go to him that evening. So Wraith remained at Hogwarts with Snape and felt strangely out of place. Phineas and Dumbledore had noticed her despondency and had gone to Snape. Feeling as though bound by their odd friendship to help, Snape did the only thing he could think of––He invited her for a game of chess. Wraith had accepted the challenge with a slightly knowing smile, but she did not questions her friend's reasoning.   
  
In the comfort of her room, they played, with a warm fire blazing in the fireplace near them. The house-elves had brought tea without being asked, anticipating their charges' needs. It wasn't until well into their game that Snape caught the glint of gold on Wraith's left hand. As Wraith reached out t move her queen, (subsequently threatening Snape's king), Snape caught her hand in his.   
  
He ran his thumb over the thin golden ring and gave Wraith a curious look. "A gift from your secret?" he asked blandly.   
  
Wraith smiled benignly. "Naturally," she said, "Who else would I have gotten it from?" She pulled her hand back from his and slipped the ring from her finger. Offering it to Snape so he could see it better, her eyes glittered with amusement. "It was a couple of weeks ago that he and I met for the first time a year ago," she explained as Snape took the ring. "The ring was something of an anniversary present. There's an inscription on the inside," she added.   
  
Snape looked to see and read aloud, " _Omnia Vincit Amor_. Hmm. Your Rowle is quite the romantic, isn't he?"   
  
Wraith smiled wickedly and her eyes narrowed, " _Oh_ , yes. Yes, he is."   
  
Snape winced at the hidden meaning in the girl's words, reading it in her iniquitous air. "Don't even hint at that aspect of your relationship," he told her firmly, a touch of desperation in his voice, "I don't need to know. I don't  _want_ to know."   
  
Wraith laughed, delighted by his embarrassment. But she took pity on him when she took the ring back and changed the subject. "Speaking on anniversaries, do you realize that I've been here at Hogwarts for a year now?"   
  
"The thought occurred to me," Snape said, watching as Wraith put the ring back on. He moved a rook to stand between Wraith's queen and his king.   
  
"I'm not all that surprised that people think I'm dead," Wraith said with a somewhat irritated sigh. "Really, what else  _could_  they think? The Dark Lord thrust me suddenly upon the world like a shadow––and just as suddenly I'm gone again."   
  
"I am, for your sake if nothing else, that he brought you here to the castle, Wraith," Snape told her.   
  
Wraith smiled softly, "So am I," she replied, "for your sake too."   
  
Snape met her eyes briefly and her smile widened. The smallest smile came to his face in return. Wraith's eyes sparkled with mirth as she moved her queen once more.   
  
"Checkmate."   
  
  
  
  
As May passed them by, the clouds and rain became rarer and the summer sun began to shine more brightly. As a result, Wraith and Edwin spent a great deal more time together during the day, speaking the hours as they had the previous summer. Most often they met at that field of white heather, sometimes spending the whole of the day there together.   
  
It seemed to Snape that Wraith was rather desperate to ignore the growing worry he saw so clearly in her eyes. The Dark Lord had been gone for more than six months, without word or even rumor of where he was or what he was seeking.   
  
Snape knew without a doubt that his absence was affecting Wraith, though she would not admit it. But even with the lingering need the girl had for her Lord, Snape saw everyday that she was becoming more independent and more herself. It was as Vivaldi had said,  _"She loves––and hates him––with a passion. She believes that she needs him and there is, unfortunately, truth to that belief. But with time and distance, she will learn to stand on her own, and your Dark Lord will have to face the consequences of it."_  Snape was almost eager for the Dark Lord to return, if only to see his reaction to the changes time had made in his Wraith.   
  
The guilt that Snape knew still haunted the girl seemed to lessen with each day that passed and he wondered if a day would ever come that she would be able to forgive herself for the lives she had taken in the Dark Lord's name.   
  
He was oddly grateful for Rowle's presence in her life, though he did on occasion feel the oddest jealousy towards the boy. He often dismissed the thought when it came to his mind. He knew, and Wraith made certain that he knew, that she needed him in her life just as much as she needed Rowle.   
  
But as the month of June began, another worry came to Snape's mind and he had to wonder if Wraith was aware of it. She was with Rowle almost every night; had she given him warning of her nightmares?   
  
  
  
  
It was early morning on the third of June when Alexis found herself going over the books for her shop. She liked being in the store in the early hours of morning when it was quiet. Alexis looked up sharply when she heard the backdoor of the shop open and close from somewhere behind her. Wand hidden up her sleeve, she turned, her eyes narrowed. She heard a footstep upon the floor, but saw no one. Instinctively she lifted her wand, a jinx on her lips as she searched the open air before her.   
  
But then Edwin was suddenly in front of her, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, Aly," he said around a grin, "Didn't mean to scare you."   
  
"Bloody hell, Edwin," Alexis snapped, "Don't  _do_  that!" Her scowl lessened slightly as she looked him over. Not for the first time, she realized how very happy her best friend had become in the past months. "That's a damned useful cloak," she said.   
  
"You're not kidding," Edwin replied, shrugging out of it and laying it on the counter. "I've got something for you," he told her, pulling something from the cloak. "I asked Wraith for a favor. She was very happy to help me out." He handed his friend a package wrapped in plain paper.   
  
Alexis frowned, her confusion clear as she unwrapped the package, revealing a cloak of soft gray within. Blinking at it, Alex unfolded the cloak and held it up. "Is this––?"   
  
"A cloak like mine," Edwin said, nodding. "It'll render you invisible and protect you from harmful spells. Wraith said to think of it as a thank-you for the sweater you made her."   
  
"She didn't have to do this!" Alex said, astonished.   
  
Edwin laughed and said, "That's what she said when I gave her the sweater."   
  
Alexis felt touched, just as Wraith had over the sweater, and she smiled gently. "It's kind of her," she murmured, running her hand over the cloak.   
  
"She is kind," Edwin said, smiling at his friend. "Alex, I kind of had a reason for asking for this cloak," he said, almost hesitantly, "…Will you come out to the forest with me? I want you to meet her."   
  
Alexis looked up quickly, surprised once more. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked. "I mean, is it safe for you and her?"   
  
"With this cloak?" Edwin said, reaching out to touch it, "Most definitely. Come with me, Aly."   
  
Alexis bit her lip, looking down at the cloak in her hands. Then with a slight smile, she slipped the cloak on and nodded to her friend.   
  
Edwin took Aly's hand before they both exited the shop, completely hidden from sight by Wraith's gifts to them both. Alexis wasn't yet used to walking around without being able to see herself and she found it a little disconcerting, but she followed Edwin's lead as he took her through the back alleys of Hogsmeade towards the forest. Sensing that his friend wasn't quite comfortable with being invisible, Edwin gave the okay for them to drop the charm as soon as they were hidden from sight within the trees.   
  
"Are you sure the forest is safe?" Alexis had to ask as they went.   
  
"Safe enough," Edwin replied ambiguously, enjoying the flash of irritation in Alex's eyes. He laughed and pulled at her hand, "Come on, Aly."   
  
Alexis realized with a start how close to the castle they were getting and was about to stop Edwin, but then they entered a brightly lit clearing. Alexis's breath caught at the sight of the field of white heather and it took her a moment to realize that someone was sitting at the edge of the field.    
  
Alexis saw her, a small-framed young woman with long black hair and skin only slightly less pale than the white flowers she was surrounded by, and it was difficult for her to imagine that she was seeing Lord Voldemort's Lady Death.   
  
Wraith looked up from the book she held in her lap and their eyes met briefly. Alexis read the timidity in the other girl's eyes and tried to smile reassuringly. Wraith's eyes flickered to Edwin and Alexis was warmed by the happiness and love that passed over the girl's face. It was good to know that Edwin's love was returned. Wraith closed the book and set it aside, getting to her feet.   
  
Alexis realized that Wraith was wearing the sweater Aly had made for her, paired by a full black skirt. Edwin had been right, she thought, she _had_  underestimated how tiny the girl was.   
  
Wraith approached slowly, but she was smiling slightly as she reached them. Edwin reached out for her, touching a hand to her cheek and kissing her gently. Then he wrapped an arm around waist and pulled her closer, turning to Alexis. "Aly," he said bracingly, "This is Wraith."   
  
Alexis held out a hand to the girl, smiling. "Hi," she said, "Alexis Jeffries."   
  
Wraith hesitantly took Aly's hand in hers. "It's good to finally meet you," she said. Alexis was surprised by the softness of the girl's voice, but it seemed to match her appearance. "Edwin talks about you a lot."   
  
"Ditto," Alexis said, smiling wryly at her friend. "Thank you––for the cloak, I mean. You didn't have to––"   
  
"Edwin cares about you," Wraith said, cutting her off, "That was reason enough for me."   
  
"Again, ditto," Alex said with a grin, touching her hand to the sleeve of the sweater Wraith wore. "Come on, let's sit," she said, tugging at Wraith's sleeve. "What are you reading?" she asked as they sat down around where Wraith had set her book.   
  
" _Macbeth_ ," Wraith said, picking up the book and passing it to Alexis. "Edwin's been getting me all of Shakespeare's work."   
  
"So  _that's_  where they've been disappearing to," Alexis said, giving Edwin an arched look. When Edwin blushed slightly and looked innocently towards the sky, Alex laughed. "I'm glad you like them," she said to Wraith, "Shakespeare's one of my favorites too."   
  
"It was Clara that got us both started on him," Edwin said, "Well, actually it was her dad. He was Muggle-born," he said to Wraith.   
  
A touch of sadness seemed to pass over Aly's face. "Edwin told me that you met Clara," she said, looking to Wraith.   
  
"A couple of times, yes," Wraith replied, reading that sadness. With a touch of compassion for the longing she saw in Alex, she smiled gently. "Months before I'd met Edwin, actually."   
  
"Did she flirt with you?" Alexis asked. She was amused to see the slight blush that came to the pale girl's cheeks. "It's okay," she said with small laugh, "Clara flirts with everybody."   
  
Wraith heard an odd mixture of bitterness and affection in Alexis's voice. "So I've heard," she said lightly.   
  
"Seems to me that Clara's a connection for us all," Alex said softly, smiling again. "That's the way it was for us when we were in school. It kind of makes sense that she'd be the one to meet you first. It makes you even more a part of our little group."   
  
Wraith felt a surge of affection and liking for Alexis when she said that.   
  
"Maybe it's fate," Edwin said, touching his forehead to Wraith's, "We were all meant to know each other."   
  
"Romantic," Alexis and Wraith said at the same time. Their eyes met and they both laughed.   
  
"Oh, great," Edwin said with a long suffering sigh, "I've surrounded myself with cynics."   
  
  
  
  
  
 _She felt so cold––the stone she lay upon leached all the warmth from her body––But she did not attempt to sit up––She knew by then that it was useless to fight against the bonds that held her down––she felt her own blood flow from the wounds that covered her body––it was the only trace of warmth she felt––her blood––_  
  
 _Distantly she heard the heavy stone door above open and close––and she felt another sort of warmth––her hatred gave fire to her––but her power would not come to her call and breathe life into that flame she felt––she was far too weakened––But she welcome the anger all the same––it was all she had left besides the pain––_  
  
 _"Little bird," her tormentor murmured, a cruel edge in his voice––She felt him approached her, felt him place his lips upon her forehead––She turned her face away from him, but that was all her bonds would allow for movement––He laughed, his voice as cold as the stone beneath her––He passed her by and out of her line of sight––It did not matter––She knew what he was doing––_  
  
 _The hours passed as slowly in his presence as it did without––She faded in and out of consciousness––Until she heard his short shout of triumph––It chilled her––She did not want his triumph––she so desperately wanted him to fail––He moved back to her and opened another wound upon her skin––she felt the pain distantly––a sharp edge just below her collarbone––_  
  
 _"We will use this power of yours together, little bird."––Her fury swelled within her, but the pain was too great––She felt him grab her face in his hand, making her look at him––Her vision wavered, but she tried to focus her eyes upon his face, hating him with every breath––"Little bird, little bird, why do you cry?"––That mad grin on his face––_  
  
 _Her fury and hatred gave her little strength and she struggled to say "The world has given me wings, but not taught me to fly."––She was loath to even speak to him–But she knew he would have hurt her more if she had not said the words––_  
  
 _There was a sharp pain in the palm of her hand––and then she felt it––An odd pull from her hand––as if he were drawing blood from her––But it was not blood––It was power––Her power––She screamed as the fire of her power flashed through her and out from her––The pain––that terrible pain––A gray fog entered her mind and she felt something inside her…break––_  
  
 _Her vision went completely black––For just an instant she was standing upon a black field––There was a line of bright power around her heart––It stretched out into the darkness––She felt herself drifting and held out a hand to the figure at the other end of the line––whether to plead with him or to harm she did not know––And then even that vision faded away––_  
  
 _She drifted into a black void––into nothingness––emptiness––She was afraid of that emptiness––But it was all that was left to her in the void––_  
  
  
  
  
  
Wraith screamed.


	38. The Graverobber

_"If a Devil is one who dares, when others hold back, then I am happy to play the Devil in this Mystery, boy."_  
  
  
  
  
Edwin snapped awake at the sound of his love's screams, pulled abruptly from his own dreaming in the process. He sat up quickly and turned to her. Her screams cut through him like knives and the sight of her face twisted in terror nearly paralyzed him.   
  
"Wraith," he called, but his voice was barely a whisper. "Wraith, wake up!" he called again, his voice stronger, but still drowned out by her screaming.   
  
He gave a silent thankful prayer for the silencing charm still around the room as he reached out for her, touching a hand to her cheek.   
  
" _Ah_!" He pulled back in shock.   
  
Wraith's skin was burning; it was hot enough that it hurt to touch her. Frightened for her, for himself, Edwin grabbed her shoulders despite her burning skin and shook her roughly, " _Wraith_!"   
  
Her screams choked off as her eyes snapped open. For one horrible moment Wraith did not see him, did not recognize him.   
  
"Wraith," Edwin breathed her name, "Love, it's me. It's Edwin. You're safe."   
  
Wraith blinked up at him and then she broke. She turned away from his hold and sobbed into her pillow. Edwin hesitated only a moment before he lay beside her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her back against him. Wraith cried violently, the sobs shaking her whole body, but still Edwin held on. All the while Edwin murmured soft words of comfort, trying to calm the storm that seemed to rage in her.   
  
Slowly, her burning skin seemed to cool and her tears ran dry. For several moments they remained where they were in complete silence. Then Wraith turned, her breath catching, to lie on her back. She looked up into Edwin's face, lifting a hand to touch his cheek.   
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice rough from her crying.   
  
"For what?" Edwin asked her, brushing gentle fingertips over her tear-stained cheeks, "For having a nightmare? Love, you've had them before."  _Nothing like this though_ , he had to admit silently to himself.   
  
"No," Wraith said weakly, shaking her head, "No, it's more than a nightmare. I knew it was coming, but I––I just pushed it to the back of my mind."   
  
"'More than a nightmare'?" Edwin repeated, "What do you mean?"   
  
Wraith took a shaky breath and sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. "It's just these past couple of years that they've been happening. First one I had was in August a year and a half ago. I had the same strange fever then. And then a year ago––A year ago _exactly_ ," she said, turning to look at him, "I had another. The dream was different from the first––But the fever was same. The dreams call upon my power; that's what causes the fever. The same thing happens to me when I overextend myself, when I use too much too quickly. Just last August––again, exactly a year after the first––I had the same dream as before, but it was clearer and I was able to remember more details from it."   
  
"What happened in that first dream?" Edwin asked softly.   
  
"I was being kidnapped," Wraith murmured, her brow creased by confusion, "I was bound hand and foot, two men were carrying me somewhere. I tried to fight them and there was this flash of pain that stopped me. I could smell roses. And I could smell blood. I think…" She paused, lifting a hand to her face, "I think the pain I felt was them breaking my nose."   
  
"Ow," Edwin muttered. He wrapped an arm over her shoulders, "Was that all there was to the first dream?"   
  
"All that I remember clearly," Wraith told him.   
  
"And the dream last June, and tonight?"   
  
"Very similar," Wraith said, "But when I had this dream last year, it was…more abstract. Tonight, it almost played like a memory––A memory from someone else's life."   
  
"What happened?"   
  
"…I died."   
  
As those simple words fell from her lips, Wraith turned and met her love's eyes. Edwin heard the bewilderment and the fear in her voice in those simple words and pulled her closer to him.   
  
Wraith rested her head at the crook of his neck and felt the tears return to her eyes. She touched a hand to her heart, remembering the cold emptiness that had taken her under and made her scream. And then she remembered that burning hatred that had warmed her. But why couldn't she remember who that hatred was for?     
  
  
  
  
Just after dawn touched the sky, Wraith entered Hogwarts again. As she closed the heavy front door, she paused long enough to sigh. She'd be unable to sleep after her nightmare, despite Edwin's comforting presence. She was exhausted, but even then she knew that she'd still be unable to sleep. She didn't want to close her eyes again. Every time she did, she was reminded of the emptiness, the darkness that had surrounded her in the end.   
  
Wraith forced herself to push away from the door and turn. She gave a start when she realized that someone stood at the bottom of the staircase.   
  
"Severus," she said breathlessly, "You startled me."   
  
"My apologies," he told her, "I was waiting for you."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Did you dream?"   
  
Wraith winced and Snape took that as an affirmative.   
  
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked her.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said softly, crossing the hall to where he stood. "I'm alright––I just––Severus, the dream was so  _clear_."   
  
"Come up to my office," Snape suggested, putting a hand on her shoulder, "You can tell me about it. Perhaps Dumbledore can shed some light on this as well."   
  
Wraith nodded and allowed him to lead her up the stairs. She did not speak again until they had entered the office. "I scared Edwin," she admitted, "I had completely forgotten what was coming."   
  
"I had wondered," Snape said, sitting behind his desk.   
  
Dumbledore gazed down at them from his portrait. "Tell us what you saw, child," he said gently.   
  
Wraith glanced at him and then turned away, crossing to the window. "…I was lying on a stone table. I was bound to it so that I couldn't move. It was so cold. I…I was hurt, bleeding from half a dozen wounds. He hurt me, kept me bleeding so that I couldn't use my power…"   
  
" _Who_  hurt you?" Snape asked, rising to his feet.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith said, her voice shaking slightly. "But I know that I  _hated_  him. He came and he whispered to me, kissed my forehead. 'Little bird', he called me. I hated him all the more when he called me that, but I don't know why. He cut me," she said, touching a hand to her collarbone, "just here. It wasn't a deep cut; he didn't need it to be deep. He said…"   
  
Wraith paused, struggling to remember the exact words she'd heard murmured in her dream. "––' _We will use this power of yours together, little bird_ '––" Slowly, she turned so that Snape could see her face. She looked unnaturally pale, even for her, and her eyes were fever-bright. "I can still hear his voice in my head, Severus."   
  
"What happened next?" Snape asked her quietly.   
  
"He took my hand in his," Wraith murmured, touching her right palm, "and I felt a pain like he had stabbed a knife through my palm. The pain faded quickly, but it was replaced by something else. He felt like he was drawing blood from a wound, but it wasn't blood he was taking from me; it was  _power_."   
  
Snape's eyes narrowed and he came around the edge of the desk. "Are you telling me that this unknown man was able to take power from you as the Dark Lord is now?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith replied, "But where my Lord succeeded, this man failed. I was too weak. When he drew upon my power, I died."    
  
Snape drew in a sharp breath, but said nothing. Wraith's hand closed in a fist, shaking slightly.   
  
"I had almost forgotten; I hadn't thought about it in more than two years––But the night that the Dark Lord came for me in Azkaban, he forged the link between us. He took my hand to do so."   
  
"The same as your dreams?"   
  
"It was the same quick pain in the palm of my hand," Wraith admitted, "But the Dark Lord didn't take power from me that night, so I didn't make the connection between that and my dreams." She fell silent, finding no more words.   
  
"…Wraith, have you done much reading on the subject of reincarnation?" Snape asked her once the silence had gone on too long for his liking.  
  
"Some," Wraith replied, "and yes, that possibility occurred to me tonight. This dream played out too much like a memory. Perhaps it has something to do with what I am, the way my powers work."   
  
"Will you ask the Dark Lord of this?" Snape asked, "It may be that he's the only one with the answers."   
  
But Wraith shook her head. "He'd only lie," she said simply. With a sigh, she collapsed into the chair in front of the desk. "And so it ends again," she whispered.   
  
"Only to begin once more in August?" Snape asked.   
  
"I don't know, Severus," Wraith said slowly, "This felt like an ending. A true one. Perhaps such nightmares are over now."   
  
Snape hesitated and then knelt beside her chair. Wraith turned towards him and leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. Snape felt a single tear fall from her eye to his cheek.  
  
"Do you know what it feels like to die?" Wraith asked him, her voice shaking again.   
  
"No," Snape replied.   
  
"I didn't want to know," she told him, "Now I don't think I'll ever be able to forget."   
  
Snape rose, pulling her to her feet as well. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her close. Wraith felt something inside her break again and she clung to the front of his robes, sobbing. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered how uncomfortable tears made Snape, and loved him all the more for the way he ignored them now.     
  
  
  
  
Summer began to slip by quickly and soon Wraith was able to sleep peacefully again. She spent more of each day by Edwin's side, spending the daylight with him in the forest, and the night in his arms and his bed.   
  
As June became July, she felt that wire tightened around her heart even further. Time was running out, she felt. Something was going to happen; she just didn't know what.   
  
On rare occasions, Alexis came with Edwin into the forest and the three would spend an afternoon together. Wraith found that she liked Alex's company. The girl was sharp, her tongue just as cutting as Snape's on occasion.   
  
There was also an air of melancholy around Alexis, which Wraith realized had a great deal to do with Clara. She recognized the longing in the other girl's voice when Clara was mentioned. It was the same longing that Wraith had felt for Edwin, in the months after she had been shot.   
  
Edwin confessed to Wraith, sometime in mid-July, that he was sorely tempted to invite Clara to Hogsmeade.   
  
"So why don't you?" Wraith asked him, intrigued by the idea of seeing Clara again.   
  
"…I don't think Alexis is ready," Edwin said slowly. "I don't think she's ready to forgive Clara…and frankly, I don't think Clara's ready to be forgiven. It's just…Part of me is afraid that this is going to end soon. And I wish that the four of us could be together before that happens."   
  
So she wasn't the only one with a dread feeling, Wraith thought to herself. "I should check in with Severus," she said, to change the subject. "I'll meet you tonight," she told him, kissing his cheek. "Don't think about this ending," she whispered, her lips still brushing his skin, "Just think about now."   
  
"I try," Edwin murmured. He caught her lips with his and pulled her close.   
  
With great difficulty, Wraith pulled away from him. She smiled warmly as she backed away from her love. "I'll see you tonight," she promised, still smiling.   
  
Edwin grinned in return and nodded, letting her go.   
  
The summer felt brighter to Wraith than any summer that had passed before. It wasn't until July was coming to an end that the dread she felt crested within her.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith woke with a start, inhaling sharply as she sat up in bed. Her eyes fell to the clock beside the bed and she felt a stab of irritation when she saw that it was just after three in the morning.   
  
Beside her, Edwin stirred. "Wraith? Are you alright?" he asked, sitting up as well, "Was it another nightmare?"   
  
"No," Wraith said, quickly standing and reaching for her clothes. "After Potter and his friends broke into the castle, I set up a spell around the boundaries of the grounds to let me know when someone entered them. Well, a moment ago someone did. Someone I don't know."   
  
She dressed quickly and sat on the edge of the bed to pull her shoes on.   
  
"I have to see," she said to Edwin, turning to briefly touch her lips to his.   
  
"I understand," Edwin assured her, "Be careful," he told her firmly.   
  
"I promise," she murmured, standing again.   
  
Before Edwin could blink, she was gone.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith Apparated at the very edge of the forest and gazed out across the moonlit grounds. Her eyes flickered to Hagrid's hut, but it seemed undisturbed. She looked up to the castle, but before she could start towards it, she felt a stirring of magic near the lake's edge.   
  
There was a great  _crack_  that split the silence in the air. Wraith hesitated a moment, wondered at what she had heard. But then she ran towards the sound, fast as her feet would carry her. She came to a stumbling halt when she reached the white tomb she knew held the remains of Albus Dumbledore.   
  
Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the tomb. It was cracked open, the pale wasted face of Dumbledore exposed to the night sky. Wraith forced herself to look away from the corpse.   
  
Her eyes scanned the darkness, looking for the one who had done it. She caught only a quick glimpse of someone slipping through the gates––and then she felt him Disapparate. She cursed herself for not having moved faster, but there was nothing to be done about it. She turned back to the broken tomb. What purpose did the stranger have for defiling the grave?   
  
Thinking quickly, Wraith turned and ran up to the castle. The moment she entered the castle, she hurried to the first portrait she found. "Wake Severus," she told the woman in the portrait, "Tell him to meet me outside. Something has happened."   
  
The woman nodded quickly and disappeared to one side of the frame.   
  
Wraith took a deep breath before she went back outside to stand on the front steps. It was only a few minutes later that Snape joined her.   
  
"Wraith?" he said quickly, "What's happened?"   
  
"Follow me," she told him, heading back down to the lake. She heard Snape inhaled sharply when they came into view of the tomb.   
  
"Who did this?" he asked under his breath.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith said, "I came too late to see." She stepped closer to the white marble. "Do…should I fix it? I don't think we can leave him like this."   
  
"Nor do I," Snape agreed, "But  _why_  was this done? They took a great risk, whoever they were, to even come here."   
  
Wraith frowned down at the face of Dumbledore. He looked as if he were sleeping. A thought drifted into her head and she slowly reached out. Closing her eyes, she extended her powers, and gently laid her hand over Dumbledore's folded hands. Snape frowned at her, but said nothing.   
  
Wraith heard a voice in her head and knew without a doubt that it was the one who had broken into the tomb. She spoke the words as she heard them.   
  
"' _Forgive me, Albus, but I cannot let him have it_ '."   
  
Wraith's eyes snapped open and she quickly looked to Snape. He looked just as confused as she. But one thing was clear––They needed to speak to Dumbledore's portrait.


	39. The Devil

_"Even nothing cannot last forever."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith and Snape both entered the office of the Headmaster with questions burning in them. Snape immediately strode behind the desk, touching a hand to the frame of the portrait that held Dumbledore's likeness.   
  
Dumbledore woke, blinking at them both with those bright blue eyes behind half-moon glasses. He saw the looks on their faces and a flash of something went across his face, too quickly for them to understanding what it was. "What has happened?" he asked them. At his question, several of the other portraits awakened, listening intently.   
  
"A fabulous question," Wraith said cuttingly, "but I have one better–– Who did you know in life that would rob your grave and yet beg your forgiveness for it?"   
  
Dumbledore stared at her with what could have been shock––and then he closed his eyes, bowing his head.   
  
"Dumbledore?" Snape prompted when the portrait remained silent.   
  
"Severus, contact the guards of Nurmengard––ask them if they still have their charge."   
  
Snape glanced at Wraith just long enough for her to see the shock in his eyes. "Nurmengard?" Snape repeated, looking back to the portrait, "You cannot be serious…"   
  
"Just do it," Dumbledore said, his eyes still firmly closed.   
  
Snape scowled briefly before he went over to the mirror that Wraith had used once before to contact him from the Manor. While Snape did as Dumbledore ordered, Wraith approached the portrait.   
  
"What is Nurmengard?" she demanded. She disliked secrets and Dumbledore seemed to have more than his fair share that night.   
  
"A prison," Dumbledore replied softly, "A Wizarding prison that holds only one prisoner."   
  
"The Dark Wizard Grindelwald," Snape told her from his place at the mirror.   
  
Wraith inhaled sharply, understanding at least a part of Snape's shock. " _Grindelwald_? The wizard that  _you_  defeated half a century ago?"   
  
"There's no response," Snape said, turning away from the mirror. "It's as if their mirror is broken."   
  
"Then they are likely indisposed––or dead," Dumbledore said. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared deeply into Wraith's. "Did you see who it was? Did you catch even a glimpse of him?"   
  
"No," Wraith replied, "well, only from a great distance. I used a touch of magic, heard what he'd said before he ran from me."   
  
"What did he say?" Dumbledore asked, his voice only a whisper.   
  
"He…he said, ' _forgive me Albus, but I cannot let him have it_ '," Wraith repeated.   
  
Dumbledore closed his eyes again and this time there was no mistaking the pain that his expression betrayed. Wraith looked to Snape, wondering if he had any clue, but the man simply shrugged, showing his own confusion.   
  
"…What did he take, Dumbledore?" Wraith asked under her breath.   
  
There was a moment of terse silence before Dumbledore sighed deeply. "It is safer…that you do not know," he told them both firmly.   
  
"Don't," Wraith said sharply, making Dumbledore look at her, "Don't do this."   
  
"I cannot tell you, child. I'm  _sorry_."   
  
"You cannot tell me," Wraith murmured, her eyes boring holes into the portrait, "You cannot tell me because you don't want the Dark Lord to know," she realized, the insight a bitter repast.   
  
Dumbledore bowed his head sadly, "As I cannot tell Severus, my dear. It is better that you do not know. The Dark Lord would not want to hear it from your lips in any case."   
  
"What makes you think I would tell him?" Wraith demanded, stung by the assumption.   
  
"If you do not know, then you do not have to lie to him," Dumbledore told her.   
  
"I do not  _believe_  this!" Wraith said with a humorless laugh. She turned her back on the portrait and began to pace the floor of the office, her agitation quite clear. Then she groaned and turned back, "Oh,  _merde_ ––We'll have to tell him  _something_  about what happened tonight."   
  
Snape winced at the words, but he heard the truth in them. "The Dark Lord won't be pleased to hear this," he said plainly.   
  
"No, he won't," Wraith agreed, "But all the same, we can't very well hide this from him. We'll tell him that someone broke into Dumbledore's tomb. We don't have to tell him that we know who it was."   
  
Snape cursed under his breath, but did not stop Wraith as she shook back her left sleeve, exposing the Dark Mark on her arm. Wraith inhaled deeply before she touched a fingertip to the Mark. It burned beneath her touch and only a moment later both she and Snape felt the Dark Lord's wrath wash over them, scouring them through the Mark they both carried.   
  
"The mirror," Wraith said roughly, stepping past Snape to the glass.   
  
As they watched, the glass clouded over and then cleared to reveal the snake-like face of Lord Voldemort. " _What happened_?" he demanded of them, his voice a low and dangerous hiss of sound.   
  
"I heard a disturbance outside," Wraith told him at once.   
  
Snape could not see her face, could not read the emotions she felt at seeing Voldemort for the first time in months.   
  
"When I went to see what had caused it, I found that Albus Dumbledore's tomb had been broken into."   
  
"Did you see who it was?" Voldemort asked briskly, " _Did you see_?"   
  
"No," Wraith replied quickly, "Forgive me, my Lord, I did not."   
  
Voldemort hissed out a venomous curse and the mirror abruptly became clear.   
  
Wraith let out a shuddering breath and then looked over her shoulder at Snape. "' _Oh, God, I have an ill-divining soul_ '," she recited softly.   
  
Snape recognized the verse from one of Shakespeare's tragedies and felt a cold chill.   
  
"Something has begun here, Severus," Wraith told him, "Something we cannot see. Something we cannot stop."     
  
  
  
  
Wraith retreated to her rooms after that, with Snape close behind her. She blacked out the painting in her room, not wanting Dumbledore or Phineas to follow them over. For several hours, she and Snape sat silent in one another's company, each having no words for the other.   
  
Just before dawn, Wraith drew on her cloak once more and told Snape that she had to return to Edwin, to tell him what had happened, at least in part. Snape nodded silently, wishing to stay in the quiet comfort of the room without the presence of the portraits or house-elves.   
  
Wraith left him there, Apparating directly to the Hog's Head. She climbed the stairs quickly and quietly and entered Edwin's room without bothering to knock. Edwin was lying in bed, but he awoke the moment he heard the door open and close.   
  
Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Edwin moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "Who was it?" he asked at once, seeing how disturbed his love was.   
  
"…We don't know," she said, hating herself for the lie, "But whoever it was broke into Dumbledore's tomb. We don't yet know why––But Severus and I did have to contact the Dark Lord and tell him."   
  
"They…they broke into  _Dumbledore's tomb_?" Edwin repeated incredulously, "Why would anyone do that?"   
  
"Maybe they just wanted to desecrate it," Wraith muttered darkly, sitting beside Edwin on the bed.   
  
Edwin put his arm around her shoulders and let her rest her head upon his shoulder in turn. "Are you alright?" he asked her softly.   
  
"I'm fine," Wraith replied, "It's…it's just been a long night, a strange one."   
  
"You look exhausted, love," Edwin told her, "Stay with me and sleep a while."   
  
Wraith nodded, smiling slightly at the comforting thought. She stood and slipped out of her cloak before she crawled into the bed with Edwin. He cradled her in his arms and hummed a soft melody under his breath until she slept.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith remained with Edwin until late morning before she finally decided to return to the castle. She left Edwin with a promise to meet him and Aly in the forest that afternoon.   
  
Wraith felt, as she walked through the forest back to the castle, as if there were a shadow over her heart. From the moment she had seen the Dark Lord's face again, that shadow appeared.   
  
She deliberately walked past Dumbledore's tomb before making her way up to the castle. She had, the previous night, set the tomb to rights once more, but there was still a thin line in the white marble across the surface, marking where it had been cracked open. Wraith thought it appropriate to leave it as it was, as a reminder of what had happened.   
  
With a heavy sigh, Wraith touched a hand to the smooth white marble, wondering at what the former Headmaster was hiding. Then she turned up to the castle, leaving the tomb behind, though the dark thoughts followed.   
  
When she reached her rooms, Wraith was surprised to see that Snape was still there. She paused in the doorway, spying him in the chair nearest to the fireplace.   
  
He had fallen asleep there, she realized as she crossed to him. For the first time that morning, Wraith truly smiled. She bent down and gently placed a kiss on Snape's forehead, being careful not to wake him.   
  
She came to understand what plagued her mind as she straightened and walked away from him. Their peace had been broken. The real world had intruded into the paradise they had forged the last few months. The calm that they had so desired would never be again.   
  
Wraith closed herself within her bedroom and let herself mourn the passing of it.   
  
  
  
  
Late in the afternoon, Wraith left her bedroom, not at all surprised to find that Snape had woken and left some time before. She glanced at the blacked-out painting, hesitated a moment, and then left it that way. She had no desire to speak with Dumbledore just then, though she sensed that he was eager to talk to her about the night before. Instead, Wraith simply drew on her cloak and disappeared from the castle to the forest.   
  
Edwin and Alexis were already waiting for her in the heather field and Wraith was able to smile at the sight of them. Edwin saw her first and immediately stood, crossing the flowers to take her up into his arms. Wraith let out a laugh despite her shadowed heart and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him quickly. Then she looked to Alexis.   
  
"Hi, Aly."   
  
"Hi," Alex replied, grinning at the pair of them. She waited until Edwin and Wraith had sat down with her at the edge of the field before she spoke again. "Edwin's says you had a long night."   
  
"An understatement," Wraith muttered, leaning against Edwin's shoulder. "Someone broke into the white tomb last night," she explained. "I felt them when they crossed into the grounds––but I was too late to see who it was."   
  
Alexis paled slightly. " _God_. Who would do such a thing?"   
  
Wraith simply shrugged tiredly. She was tired of speaking on it, tired of even thinking about it. Alexis seemed to sense it and changed the subject.   
  
"I was thinking of maybe visiting you guys at Edwin's place above the Hog's Head," she said, "Edwin says that I should hear you play the piano."   
  
"I'd like that," Wraith told her.   
  
"Maybe tomorrow morning before you go back to the castle," Edwin suggested.   
  
"That sounds like a good idea," Wraith said, smiling at him.   
  
The three of them spent the rest of the afternoon there in the heather field and Wraith felt her heart grow a little lighter by the time she took her leave of them.   
  
Edwin pulled her very close for another kiss before she left and it went on long enough that Aly eventually and very loudly cleared her throat to remind them of her presence. Alexis was very amused by the bright blush on Wraith's cheeks, so obvious against her pale skin, but she was kind enough not to laugh aloud.   
  
Edwin, however, chuckled. "I'll see you tonight," he murmured, brushing his lips lightly over hers once more.   
  
Wraith grinned and reluctantly pulled away from his hold.   
  
Edwin smiled after her and it wasn't until she was out of sight that Alexis spoke softly.   
  
"She's lying."   
  
Edwin's smiled faded as he turned to his friend. Alex met his eyes squarely.   
  
"She knows who broke into the tomb," she elaborated.   
  
"I know," Edwin replied gently. "But I trust her. If she doesn't think she can tell us, then it's probably safer that we don't know."   
  
"That's what I thought," Alexis agreed, "But I wish she could tell us. She doesn't like keeping secrets from you, does she?"   
  
"No," Edwin said. "No, she doesn't. Someday though, she won't have to."   
  
  
  
  
That night, Wraith fell asleep in Edwin's arms once more and her sleep was thankfully unencumbered by dreams.   
  
But all the same, shortly after two in the morning, she suddenly found herself awake. She sat up quickly, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.   
  
Beside her, Edwin stirred, slowly waking as well. "Wraith?" he murmured, reaching up a hand to touch her bare arm, "Love, are you okay? Was it another nightmare?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith whispered, turning to him, "Just a nightmare." She leaned over him, touching her lips to his. "Help me sleep again, lover," she murmured as her lips traced the line of his jaw.   
  
Edwin laughed softly as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Wraith drank in his kisses like water after wandering in the desert, his touch bringing warmth to her cool skin. Edwin wondered briefly what she had dreamed that made her so desperate for touch, for comfort, but soon all thought was abandoned for other worthwhile pursuits.   
  
After they had spent their love and energy together, Edwin slowly drifted back into sleep––But Wraith remained awake.   
  
Once she was sure that her love had fallen asleep again, she carefully pulled away from his embrace. In the dark and moving silently, she dressed, cold tears slowly falling from eyes as she did so. Choking back sobs, she gathered up the sweater Alexis had made her and wrapped it around the music books she usually left with Edwin during the day.   
  
When she was certain that she had everything, she hesitated, looking down at Edwin's peaceful and sleeping face. Very carefully, she leaned down and brushed her lips over his again.   
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, all but breathing the words. She straightened, clutching the sweater and music books to her chest.   
  
And then she was gone.   
  
  
  
  
In her bedroom at the castle, Wraith quickly dropped her burden upon the bed before she conjured a small trunk beside it. Moving quickly, she packed away the music books, the sweater, and all of the books Edwin had given her over the past months.   
  
With a small thread of power, she called the rest of her music books from Flitwick's room several floors below and they appeared in the trunk as well.   
  
As she closed the trunk and conjured a lock for it, her eyes fell upon the ring she wore on her finger. For a long moment, she remained standing there, unable to tear her eyes away from the little ring of gold.   
  
But the soft sound of a footstep at her door made her look up. Snape was standing in the doorway, looking only half-awake and a little irritable.   
  
"Wraith," he said, his eyes taking in the sight of the packed trunk on her bed, "It's not yet three in the morning. Why aren't you with Rowle?"   
  
Wraith looked at him and her shoulders fell as if she carried a heavy burden.   
  
"…He's back, Severus," she whispered, "––The Dark Lord has returned to Britain."


	40. Changes Dark & Bright

_"She seems so cool, so focused, so quiet, yet her eyes remain fixed upon the horizon. You think you know all there is to know about her immediately upon meeting her, but everything you think you know is wrong. Passion flows through her like a river of blood. She only looked away for a moment, and the mask slipped, and you fell. All your tomorrows start here."_  
  
  
  
  
With the dawn, Snape found himself pacing in the entrance hall, waiting for some sign of Wraith. She had all but closed the door in his face after revealing that the Dark Lord had returned. He could only guess at what the girl was planning in the wake of the information.   
  
He frowned at the sharp sound of heeled boots upon the staircase. He looked up––and his eyes widened at the sight of her.   
  
Wraith slowly descending the stairs, the rippling black of her skirts flowing around her ankles. She wore nothing but black; a sweeping strapless gown that clung to her thin frame, leaving her arms and shoulders bare. For the first time since the Dark Lord had left her, she wore the golden medallion around her neck, the pale jewels upon it glittering softly at her breast. Her raven-black hair fell in soft waves just past her waist, unhindered. Her lips were painted a vivid blood-red; her eyes shadowed with black and pale blue deigned to accent the jewels on the medallion. When she drew nearer, Snape saw that the bodice of her dress was embroidered with a similar, almost Celtic, design as the Dark Lord's gift as well.   
  
Wraith paused several stairs from the bottom and held up her arms, raising one fine brow. "Well?" she asked him when he continued to stare at her in silence.   
  
"…You look…different," Snape said at last, "…dangerous."   
  
Wraith gave him a small, knife-edged smile that he had not seen on her lips for months. "Well, that  _is_  the general idea."   
  
Snape slowly crossed to the bottom of the staircase. Looking at the golden chain of the medallion, he caught the faintest sight of a thinner, silver chain, barely visible, that ran parallel to it. When she saw where his eyes had settled, Wraith pulled at the chain, freeing the chain from the bodice of her dress: On the thin chain hung the golden ring that Edwin had given her.   
  
"I'll be keeping my little secret," Wraith told him simply, "for as long as I can, of course." She tucked the ring back into her dress and even as Snape watched, the silver chain vanished from sight completely.   
  
"And have you said your goodbyes to your Rowle?" Snape asked her.   
  
Something flickered through Wraith's eyes; Snape guessed that it was grief. "I couldn't," she whispered. "…He'll come looking for me. Severus––"   
  
"I will tell him," Snape assured her. He looked up at her a moment longer. "…Must you return to him, child?"   
  
"Severus, I am no closer than I was months ago to severing the link that lies between the Dark Lord and I," she reminded him brusquely. "So, yes, I must return. He is the only one who has the answers I seek."   
  
"Yet a part of you  _wants_  to return to him," Snape muttered darkly. "Speak truthfully, child."   
  
Wraith's eyes sharpened dangerously. She had heard that edge of what could have only been jealousy in his voice. She had heard a trace of it now and again when she had spoken to him of Edwin, but never when it came to the Dark Lord.   
  
"Yes," she snapped at him, "A part of me  _longs_  to see him again. But whatever may happen next, Severus, things have  _changed_ …and the Dark Lord will have to come to terms with that."   
  
Snape dropped his gaze to the floor, his face twisted in a scowl. But Wraith had seen the concern in his eyes before he'd lowered them. She sighed, a saddened sound passing through her bloodied lips.   
  
She walked down to the last step, stopping when her head was only slightly higher than Snape's––and then she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Snape stiffened automatically––but then he allowed himself to hold her. He clung, if only for a few moments, as tightly as he could, his face hidden in her hair.   
  
"I'm sorry, Sev," Wraith whispered to him, "I'm sorry to be leaving you alone here again."   
  
"Don't apologize," Snape told her, "Do what you must to free yourself, child."   
  
Wraith gently pulled back, smiling softly at him. She touched a hand under his chin, lifting his face slightly. Then she kissed his cheek, letting her lips linger there. "I'm not going to say goodbye to you either," she told him, "Because this isn't goodbye. Not at all."   
  
"Has he called for you already?" Snape asked her, letting her go.   
  
"No," she said shortly. "In fact, just this morning he closed off the link between us. He doesn't want me to find him just yet. Which is a pity considering that I'm going to anyway."   
  
"Will he be at the Manor, do you think?"   
  
"No. That's the first place he'd think I'd look for him," Wraith said, pondering. "I'll begin with the Malfoys' home. I have a feeling that he'll be there." She stepped down that final stair and held up a hand. A long black and hooded coat appeared in her hand and she slipped it on.  
  
"You won't return here?" Snape asked her.  
  
"No," she replied softly, looking at him from over her shoulder, "…I can't. Not until this is finished."    
  
Snape stared at her again and smirked just slightly. "He won't know what to make of you," he said wryly, "No one will."   
  
"I'm counting on it," Wraith told him with that same sharp little smile. "I will have to become a different creature…if I'm to find my way around him."  
  
"You are already a different creature, Wraith."    
  
  
  
  
The morning was cool and calm when Narcissa descended the staircase of her home. She could not bring herself to remain upstairs, not while _he_  was a guest in their grand house. Her husband and son had already taken the opportunity to leave, and she did not begrudge them of it. Had she the nerve, she would have taken her young charge and disappeared for a few hours as well.   
  
As she crossed the hall towards the drawing room, she paused, glancing with fearful eyes to the front doors. They slowly opened on their own accord, allowing entrance to a hooded figure. As the figure stepped inside, the click of heeled-boots echoed through the silent hall.   
  
Narcissa sucked in a sharp breath when she realized who it was. As the figure passed her, the older woman caught the flash of crystal blues eyes as the girl nodded in acknowledgment to her. Narcissa shook slightly as fear overtook her.   
  
The figure stopped at the bottom of the staircase…and slowly lifted her eyes to the floors above.   
  
  
  
  
Lord Voldemort was settled comfortably in a chair before a roaring fire. He was drained from his journey and the rage he'd felt the day before at being so utterly thwarted still seethed under his skin.   
  
With a scowl, he turned slightly at the sound of the front doors opening and closing. He had told the Malfoys quite firmly that he was  _not_  to be disturbed for the time being. They had best pray that whoever had come would not do so. He listened intently to find out who had come visiting––but he heard nothing.   
  
Curiosity warred with anger inside him as he stood and crossed to the door. He pulled it open roughly and stepped out into the hall of the second floor. He went down the hall to the staircase and gazed down from above to the entrance hall, scowling as he did so.   
  
His scowl deepened when he saw no one there below. "Narcissa!" he called sharply. There was no reply. " _Narcissa_!" he snapped out again, louder this time. His voice echoed through the manor…but there was still no answer.   
  
Unsettled, Voldemort backed away from the stairs and went back to the room he had been sitting in before.   
  
"Smart woman, our Mrs. Malfoy," came a low and derisive voice from the room as he stepped into the doorway.   
  
His Wraith was draped across the chair he had vacated, her legs dangling over one arm. "She deemed it prudent to be…elsewhere." Wraith tilted her head to one side, studying him as he did her. "…Hello, my Lord," she murmured.   
  
Voldemort took in the sight of her, the changes that were clear to the naked eye, and the knife-edged smile that twisted her painted lips. "My Wraith," he said slowly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, "I did not yet call for you."   
  
"Yet here I am," Wraith replied wryly, "Curious, eh?" She tilted her head down slightly, gazing at him with sharp eyes. "Forgive me, my Lord, but then I've never been a patient woman."   
  
Slowly, she uncurled herself from the chair and slipped out of the long coat she wore, tossing it over the back of a short couch, delicately embroidered with intricate designs. Voldemort's eyes swept over her frame and the sleek dress that enfolded it. His gaze fell upon the medallion that rested at her breast and he smiled just slightly to see her wearing it so well.   
  
"Did you find what you were looking for?"   
  
The small smile twisted into a sneer and he did not reply.   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed as she gave him a slow grin. "So, you've returned to Britain…empty-handed?"   
  
Voldemort remained silent and Wraith walked slowly towards him. Her movements, the Dark Lord noted, were almost…serpentine.   
  
"Curious," Wraith said softly, "that you return so but a day after word reaches you that the grave of Dumbledore has been plundered." She tilted her head to one side once more, reminding Voldemort of a serpent about to strike. "So, I am left to wonder," she murmured, "...What was it in Dumbledore's tomb that my Lord  _so_  wanted?"   
  
"You don't need to know," Voldemort told her firmly.   
  
"Of course I don't," Wraith said, turning away from him. The dark humor in her voice gave an edge to her words.   
  
"Do you have a point,  _pet_?" Voldemort demanded of her.   
  
She turned back, still smiling in that utterly infuriating manner. "Only that it is a pity you didn't accept my help when offered," she told him, raising a delicate brow, "You wouldn't have needed to travel so far nor search so long…nor would you have to be…empty-handed."   
  
Voldemort strode across the room to her and grabbed her arm in a tight grip, his face twisted with ire.   
  
Wraith's knowing smile never faltered. "Did you miss me?" she asked him, ignoring his obvious annoyance, "…even a little?"   
  
Voldemort's ire was briefly surmounted by his curiosity. He leaned down slightly, drawing in the scent of her. She was wearing perfume, he realized, a scent of roses that overpowered the odd scent of rain that usually accompanied it. "Perhaps a little," he told her, his eyes nearly level with hers, "now and again."   
  
"Good," she said, pulling away from his grip. She regarded him through half-closed eyes as she took a step back from him.   
  
"Is it?" Voldemort asked, watching her still.   
  
"Oh, very," Wraith replied, "It's only fair. I did miss you 'now and again' too."   
  
Intrigued now by the game she was so obviously playing, Voldemort reclaimed the chair hat sat before the fire, never taking his gaze from his Wraith. "I wonder," he said slowly, "what has gotten into you, my pet?"   
  
Once more, Wraith smiled slowly at him. "Time, my Lord," she said simply, "You've been gone for nearly nine months…" she reminded him in a low and darkly edged voice as she circled around his chair. "The Wraith that you left behind…is not the one you've returned to…my  _Lord_ ," she added the title as almost an afterthought.   
  
"I see," Voldemort murmured, for now he truly  _did_. There was indeed a new sharpness to her, a sensuality that she had not possessed before. It  _intrigued_  him more than he would have expected. The almost…innocent air that she had had around her was utterly vanished.   
  
"Why don't you come closer, pet?" he suggested slowly, "Come and sit with me a while?"   
  
"Hmm, tempting," Wraith told him, leaning over to place her hands upon his chair's armrests.   
  
Voldemort tilted his head up just slightly, their lips but a breath apart.   
  
"…But I'll have to decline for the moment," she finished, straightening up again. She stepped back out of his reach before he could close his hand around her arm.   
  
"You test my patience, my Wraith," he hissed at her.   
  
She merely smirked in response. "Don't I always?" she asked him in return. She turned, reaching for the coat she has discarded before.   
  
"You must be weary from your travels," Wraith said, edging quite close to condescending. "I am returning to Slytherin Manor," she told him as she slipped the coat back on, "I'll await you there––until you have need of me."   
  
" _Wraith_ ," Voldemort spoke her name slowly and very clearly in warning.   
  
Wraith laughed under her breath and crossed back to him. Again, she leaned down, this time capturing his mouth with hers in a slow and sumptuous kiss. She bit down on his lower lip, just slightly, before pulling away.   
  
"Welcome home, my Lord," she murmured wryly, turning on her heel.   
  
Voldemort watched as she disappeared through the door, wondering what other changes time had wrought upon his servant. And just what game she seemed so intent on playing with him.   
  
  
  
Wraith was grateful for the simple fact that no one seemed to be present within the Manor when she arrived in the still early hours of the day. If Rowle or Wormtail were still there, it was likely that they were still ensconced in sleep.  
  
She entered the once familiar tower of Slytherin Manor, noting its abandoned air. The place where she had been so haunted: The place that she had first called home. It looked precisely the same as when she had so abruptly left it, but she felt it was different somehow.   
  
The room was dark; the only source of light was the sun that drifted in through the four tall windows. There was the lightest layer of dust over everything in the room. Wraith recalled belatedly that there were no house-elves to think of such things left in the Manor. As such, the fireplace was dark and empty and room held a chill.   
  
Wraith crossed to the bed and reached for the small trunk she had sent along before she had left Hogwarts. With a swift hand, she unlocked it, sitting on the bed beside it. Her fingertips brushed over the book of Shakespearian sonnets that lay on top.   
  
"…Let the games begin," she whispered softly.


	41. Their Return

_"The power of accurate observation is frequently called cynicism by those who don't have it."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape waited until well past mid-morning before he left the castle. He was still avoiding the portraits, having no want to speak with them, most especially Dumbledore; though Phineas was very keen to speak about his disappointment that the girl was gone from the castle. And so he thought to keep his word to Wraith and avoid the former Headmasters at the same time.   
  
The day was bright, not a cloud in the sky, something that Snape regarded rather bitterly. He entered the forest, remembering the field of heather that Wraith had so often told him of. It was close enough to the castle that Snape thought he would be safe to enter the forest. Honestly though, he had no idea whether the forest was still inhabited by the dangerous creatures that had once filled it. He hadn't seen any sign of the centaur herd since before Wraith had first arrived at the castle.   
  
When he reached the field of pristine white flowers, he saw Rowle standing at the edge, leaning back against one of the many great trees that surrounded the field. Rowle must have heard Snape's footsteps, for the young man lifted his head with a smile. But the smile faded to cautious suspicion when he saw his former professor.   
  
"Rowle," Snape said, stopping at the other side of the field. His expression was not kind.  
  
"Professor Snape," Edwin said, nodding his head once, though never taking his eyes from the man. "…She's gone, isn't she?"   
  
"She is," Snape told him. "The Dark Lord returned to Britain last night––and she has returned to him."   
  
"I wondered," Edwin said softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself, "She woke so suddenly last night…told me that it was just a nightmare. But when I woke this morning and she wasn't there…"   
  
Snape let the silence between them fall for a few moments before he spoke again. "I promised her that I would tell you where she had gone," he said, starting to turn, "Now that the promise has been kept, you'll excuse me." He had already started away when Rowle's voice stopped him again.   
  
"Professor?"   
  
Snape looked back, but he was eager to be away.   
  
"Thank you," Edwin told him, "Thank you for keeping our secret."   
  
Snape considered him with sharp eyes. "Just keep in mind that it is not for  _your_  sake that I do so."   
  
Edwin smiled just slightly. "Yes, sir, Professor."   
  
He caught the hint of Snape's scowl before the man turned and walked away.    
  
  
  
  
As evening fell around Slytherin Manor, Wraith felt the presence of her fellow Death Eaters stirring below and shortly after she felt Rowle leave the Manor, leaving only her and Wormtail behind. But it wasn't until she felt the Dark Mark burn upon her that she closed the book of sonnets in her hands with a snap. She climbed to her feet from where she had been laying on her bed.   
  
She smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt as she crossed over to the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling her pulse beginning to race under her skin. She tried a smile and felt her mask slip back into place.   
  
She started for the door and then paused, glancing back to the dresser beside the bed. Frowning just slightly, she crossed back to it and pulled open the top drawer. Within lay the dagger that Bellatrix had attempted to kill her with––and the first gift the Dark Lord had given her; the necklace of black stones.   
  
Her lips twisted into another smile as she lifted it from the drawer and slipped it around her neck. Then she took up the dagger and sheath, belting it around her waist. She glanced once more in the mirror, admiring the layering effect of the two necklaces, with the medallion hanging down between her breasts and the black stones tight around her throat.   
  
 _I've already confronted the Master_ , she reminded herself,  _now all that remains are the puppets._  
  
Her little smile took on a sharp edge before she finally descended the twisting stairs of her tower.    
  
  
  
  
When Wraith entered the Malfoys' drawing room, she saw at once that the usual furniture had been again pushed carelessly aside to make room for the long ornate table that rested down the center of the room. There were only a few of her fellow Death Eaters gathered there at the table. Wraith guessed by the pensieve air in the room that they were still awaiting the rest that had been called.   
  
She paused in the doorway, her eyes immediately finding the Dark Lord's at the high end of the table. His bone-white face was almost luminous in the near darkness of the room. Wraith tilted her head slightly forward in acknowledgement to her Lord and was rewarded by his nod in return.   
  
She felt every eye in the room turn to her then and she met them each briefly in kind. She saw fear in those eyes more than anything else, but there was also a trace of astonishment and even a touch of curiosity. Wraith was unsurprised to see Lucius and Draco already seated, along with Rowle, Yaxley, and Avery. She was almost disappointed when she noted that Bellatrix and her husband had not yet arrived.   
  
But the younger Lestrange brother was present, sitting in his place about half-way up the table. Wraith was amused to see Rabastan openly staring at her, his mouth slightly agape.   
  
Wraith slowly walked up the table, her boots clicking against the stone floors. As she reached where Rabastan sat, she felt his eyes follow her until she was directly behind his chair. She deliberately paused there, turning to place one hand on the back of the chair. She leaned around him, placing her other hand upon the table.   
  
"Something bothering you, Rabastan?" she murmured.   
  
"Bothering me?" the man repeated, staring determinedly at the table in front of him, "No. No, my Lady, not in the slightest."   
  
Wraith smirked and as she straightened, she caught Draco Malfoy's eye. She saw the flash of humor in his eyes before he quickly suppressed it. Draco, it seemed, caught that Wraith was teasing his uncle. Wraith's smile widened just a touch and she winked. Draco smothered a smile of his own.   
  
Satisfied, Wraith continued along the table, approaching where the Dark Lord sat. Before his chair, Wraith curtsied deeply, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her shoulders.   
  
"My Lord," she murmured.   
  
"My Wraith," he replied evenly.   
  
It wasn't until she saw him gesture to her that she straightened once more and took her seat to his left. Once settled, she cast her eyes around the room again. She was amused to see how many people quickly glanced away to avoid her gaze. Wraith glanced away again, smirking.   
  
A moment later, several people arrived at the doorway. Wraith turned her attention to them and felt a thrill of excitement at the sight of Bellatrix and Rodolphus. Bella saw her sitting beside the Dark Lord and froze where she stood. Wraith saw the older woman's eye twitch just slightly with rage and frustration, and not just a little fear. Wraith met her gaze and smiled very slowly.  _You're not rid of me as easily as you thought, Bella dear._    
  
Voldemort glanced between the two of them, sharing a touch of his Wraith's amusement. Wraith caught his eye and saw how his gaze fell to see the dagger once more at her waist. When his eyes returned to hers, she saw the slightest warning to behave within them. She accepted the silent warning with a slight nod and they both turned their attention back to those gathered.   
  
Rodolphus sat to his brother's left and his wife took the seat just beside him, sitting directly across from her nephew Draco. Slowly, more of the Death Eaters filed into the room and soon the table was all but filled. But it wasn't until Snape stepped into the doorway that Wraith paid any real attention to them.   
  
Snape strode quickly along the table and, as Wraith had done, bowed low to the Dark Lord. "My Lord," he said softly. His eyes flickered towards Wraith, "My Lady."   
  
Wraith's intimidating smile softened slightly when she looked to him.   
  
As Dolohov and Rookwood skulked into the room and took their seats, the group was at last assembled. Voldemort glanced over each face of his followers, noting that many were thrown by the Wraith's appearance. The girl herself seemed to drink in their confusion and trepidation, sitting back in her chair with that sharp little smile twisting her lips. The Dark Lord looked to her briefly before he spoke.   
  
"Rookwood."   
  
The stooped and pockmarked man winced slightly when Voldemort spoke his name, but he straightened in his chair and spoke. "My Lord, rumors have abounded these past months that you have been abroad or…or even dead. The same has been said of the Wraith," he added, with a caution nod to her. "But there has been little resistance to the regime until the recent weeks."   
  
"My Lord," Yaxley said, lifting his chin in an imperial manner, "Surely with your return, such resistance will be quickly suppressed."   
  
Voldemort started to nod, but stopped when he heard his Wraith speak softly.   
  
"Not necessarily," she said dryly, "My Lord, as much as the population fears you, if you were to step more into the open then you give their enemy a face. History has shown that such a thing could, in fact, cause a resistance to proliferate."   
  
Voldemort considered her a moment, eyes boring into hers. Her cavalier expression did not change. "Your words have sense, my Wraith," Voldemort said after a moment. "What do you suggest, then?"   
  
"From shadow we are born––in shadow we remain," she said simply. "Simply let the rumors abound again. As with your absence, slowly your return will be realized. Let them continue to fret on whether or not either rumor is the truth. Let confusion continue to be your ally."   
  
"B-but what of the resistance we face  _at this moment_?" Yaxley demanded of her, "What are we to do about it?"   
  
Wraith raised a delicate brow, "Not up to the challenge are we, Yaxley?"   
  
The pompous Death Eater paled dangerously as he realized that he'd just openly criticized the Dark Lord's Wraith. There was nothing in her expression to betray any hint of annoyance or anger with him, but to have those pale eyes on him made him tremble inside. "M-my p-pardon, my Lady," he mumbled, dropping his eyes.   
  
"No pardon necessary, Yaxley," Wraith replied smoothly, "It isn't as though you don't have a point. My Lord?" She looked to Voldemort expectantly.   
  
"Perhaps something between the two," Voldemort said slowly, "We shall begin with the Ministry itself."   
  
The meeting went on, many of the Death Eaters reporting on the pockets of conflict that had cropped up across the country in the Dark Lord's absence. But none caused Voldemort any real concern.   
  
"What of Potter?" he asked of them. "Has he been sighted amongst any of this resistance?"   
  
Wraith surreptitiously glanced at Snape from the corner of her eye, but the movement went unnoticed by all but him.   
  
"No, my Lord," Avery replied carefully, "There has been no sign of the boy since you left."   
  
That Voldemort did not trust. There was, he knew, the possibility that Potter had known where he had gone––and what he was searching for. He had not been as careful to keep the connection between their minds locked down. When the Dark Lord scowled at this thought, many of those around the table seemed to shrink into themselves, expecting the worst.   
  
"What piece will you move, my Lord?" Wraith asked in a murmur, only heard by Voldemort and Snape.   
  
The Dark Lord looked to her, recalling the conversation that had taken place nearly two years before. "I shall think on it, little queen," he whispered back.   
  
Wraith smirked and nodded her understanding.   
  
At last, the meeting drew to a close as Voldemort dismissed his Death Eaters, some to their previous tasks, and yet others assigned to new. Soon, the only ones left in the dark drawing room with the Dark Lord were Lucius and his son, Snape, and Wraith.   
  
"You and Draco may leave as well, Lucius," Voldemort said as he stood before the fire. With a shared look of extreme relief, the Malfoys bowed to the Dark Lord and took their leave.   
  
Wraith shifted in her chair, letting her legs dangle over one arm. She gave Snape a small smile when he rolled his eyes at her. "I'd almost forgotten how much fun these can be," she said, smirking.   
  
"You had a good deal to contribute, my Wraith," Voldemort commented from where he stood.   
  
"Well, there is a reason that I  _read_ , my Lord," she told him wryly. "Those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it, as has been said."   
  
"Very true, pet," Voldemort said, now turning to look at her again. He smiled coldly and she returned a similar smile. "I must speak with Severus," he told her, "If you would await me upstairs, we shall return to Slytherin Manor together."   
  
Wraith slipped her legs from the arm of the chair and stood smoothly. "As you wish, my Lord," she said. She bowed her head to Snape. "Goodnight, Severus."   
  
"My Lady," Snape said, bowing his head in return.   
  
With one last glance to her Lord, Wraith strode across the room, closing the doors behind her as she left it.              
  
Voldemort watched her as she disappeared behind those doors and then turned his eyes to Snape. "I find my Wraith much changed, Severus," he said, his voice giving nothing for Snape to read.   
  
"Indeed, my Lord," he replied, "She does seem so." When the Dark Lord said nothing, Snape continued, "I saw no great change in the time you were away, my Lord, it was a great deal more gradual. I hadn't quite realized how much she had changed until tonight."   
  
"It could be very good indeed," Voldemort said, "This change in her. She has never much exercised the power she has over the rest of my followers. But tonight, she was most impressive."   
  
"As you say, my Lord," Snape said with a slight nod.   
  
"And how do you find my Wraith, Severus?" Voldemort asked him.   
  
"She is…compelling," Snape said slowly, "and, I believe, she is at last comfortable in her power, both magical and otherwise. As she has demonstrated this evening."   
  
"It had occurred to me before, Severus, though I had made no mention of it to you, concerning my Wraith's future and how you might be of service. Someday I will have her wed so that she may continue her bloodline."   
  
Snape's face was unreadable as the Dark Lord's. He said nothing.   
  
"Perhaps you would consider her for a wife in the distant future?" Voldemort continued, his voice low.   
  
"In all honesty, my Lord…I would not," Snape confessed. "I do not see myself as a married man, not even to one as compelling as your Wraith."   
  
"I see," Voldemort said and Snape was relieved to hear no anger in his tone, merely contemplation. "Almost a pity, but I see your reasoning."   
  
"Truthfully, I could almost pity the man you someday marry her to," Snape said dryly.   
  
Voldemort's mouth twisted into something of a smile. "Yes, I see that too." The Dark Lord turned back to the fireplace and was silent a moment more. "Very well then. Tell me of Hogsmeade in my absence. I wish to know if you have seen any rebellion there that the others may have missed."


	42. Innocent Eyes

  
_"Sometimes it is the quiet observer who sees the most."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith wandered slowly through the halls of Malfoy manor, moving quietly so that she did not disturb its inhabitants. The building felt familiar, almost home, and it was strange for her to think of how long it had been since she had been taken away from it. She made her way to the library, smiling slightly as she ran her fingertips over recognizable titles on the shelves.   
  
It wasn't long before she left the books behind to find the music room, though. The door to the music room was slightly ajar, suggesting to Wraith that Narcissa was playing more often than she had been when Wraith was living there. She stepped inside and slowly approached the piano.   
  
 _One last time couldn't hurt_ , she told herself as she sat down at the piano. She flexed her hands over the keys, smiling as she decided what to play.  _Greensleeves_  began to float from the piano in soft, quavering notes. Wraith closed her eyes as the melody flowed from her fingertips.  
  
But halfway through the song, she felt someone's eyes upon her back. She turned quickly, frowning, for she had heard no footsteps. She blinked, terribly surprised to see the very little boy that stood at the edge of the door, watching her with wide eyes, dressed in dark green pajamas.   
  
She knew at once who he was. True, he had his father's dark reddish brown hair––but it was Bellatrix Lestrange's dark eyes that stared at her from that young and innocent face.   
"Hello, child," Wraith said softly, turning more to face him.   
  
"'Lo," the child murmured back.   
  
Wraith was unsure of what to do next. She had never met a child so very young; if she remembered correctly then the boy couldn't yet be a year old. As she struggled internally with herself, the boy walked with very unsteady feet further into the room until he had reached the piano. He lifted a pudgy hand to touch the gleaming surface.   
  
"Pano," he said quite clearly.   
  
Wraith couldn't help but smile at him. She nodded slowly, "Yes, piano."   
  
"Cissa's pano," he told her, sticking his thumb into his mouth as he considered her with those familiar eyes.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said again, amused, "This is Narcissa's piano." She started to say something else, to ask him where Narcissa was, but the boy cut her off by pushing down on one key. The high note seemed to echo in the little room.   
  
"Play," the boy told her. Wraith laughed, despite herself.   
  
With a smile, she nodded once more. "Okay," she told him. The boy lifted his arms to her, quite clearly demanding to sit beside her. Wraith hesitated, suddenly nervous to touch him, but then she carefully reached down and took him under his arms. She lifted him up very cautiously and set him on the bench beside her. He clung to her side to stay upright and then reached forward to touch the piano again.   
  
"Play," the boy repeated. Wraith smiled and shook her head at her own foolishness. She tucked an arm around the boy to keep him steady and played  _Greensleeves_  again, as best she could with only one hand. She was rewarded by the little boy's smile.   
  
"Rabian?  _Rabian_!" Wraith heard the panic very clear in Narcissa's voice from the hallway.   
  
"Narcissa," she called, keeping her voice quite calm. "He's here."   
  
She heard the sound of running footsteps and but a moment later, Narcissa appeared in the doorway. The fear melted away from her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by unease. "He––I'm sorry, he must have slipped out of the nursery when I wasn't looking."   
  
"It's alright," Wraith assured her, "He must have heard me playing and wanted to investigate. You play the piano for him, don't you?"   
  
Narcissa smiled nervously. "On occasion," she said, "He really does seem to like it."   
  
"Where is his mother?" Wraith asked softly.   
  
"Somewhere with her husband, no doubt," Narcissa said rather dismissively.   
  
Wraith smiled slightly at the tone. "So, you're taking care of him?"   
  
"For the most part," Narcissa said.   
  
"Good," Wraith told her. She smiled down at Rabian and touched a hand to his dark hair. "That's very good. The boy needs a better mother than your sister will be."   
  
Narcissa smiled again, but quickly hid it.   
  
"He seems a sweet boy," Wraith said, still smiling down at the boy. "It's so strange, though, to see Bella's eyes looking at me with such innocence."   
  
"I'm not quite used to it myself," Narcissa admitted. "He's quite precocious too, as my mother always claimed Bella was as a baby." She sighed, looking very tired. "I should get him back to bed," she said after a moment.   
  
"Yes, it is rather late," Wraith agreed.   
  
Wraith gently lifted the boy into her arms and stood. Little Rabian clung to her until she had reached Narcissa. The little boy reached out for his aunt and Narcissa was glad to take him. But the boy looked back to Wraith, his thumb back in his mouth as he stared at her.   
  
Wraith gave him a smile. "It was nice to meet you, Rabian," she said gently. The boy smiled, resting his head on his aunt's shoulder. Wraith lifted her eyes to Narcissa's, still smiling. "It's good to see you again, Narcissa."   
  
"You…you look well, my Lady," Narcissa said, suddenly looking the younger woman over. Wraith recalled that Narcissa had been one of the first people to see her after her release from Azkaban. She wondered what was going through Narcissa's mind as she took in the changes. "You've grown into your skin, haven't you?" Narcissa said softly, the tiniest smile tugging at her lips. "You aren't a girl anymore."   
  
"No," Wraith agreed, "No, I'm not." She reached out to touch the boy's cheek. "Goodnight," she murmured to him.   
  
"Rabe," Narcissa told her, "We call him Rabe, mostly."   
  
"Goodnight, Rabe," Wraith said.   
  
Narcissa bent her knees in a slightly curtsy. "My Lady."  
  
"Narcissa," Wraith said, bowing her head.  
  
The boy lifted a hand and waved it clumsily at her before Narcissa took him away back to his nursery.      
  
  
  
  
It was not long before the Dark Lord found her there in the music room, still playing idly at the keys. Wraith felt herself smile when he stepped into the doorway, unavoidable reminded of the first time he had returned for her.   
  
"My Lord," she said, turning to face him. "Are you ready to return to Slytherin Manor?"   
  
"Yes," the Dark Lord said, gesturing for her to stand.   
  
Wraith did so, closing the lid on the piano as she did so. Voldemort glanced at the grand instrument curiously. "You played often at Hogwarts, did you not?" he said, "Shall I have one found for the Manor?"   
  
"Oh, no, thank you, my Lord," Wraith said with half a laugh. "I'm certain I will have other things to occupy my time at home."   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed even as a small satisfied smile flashed across his snake-like face. "Come then," he said, "Let us return––home."   
  
Wraith took his offered arm and together they left the Malfoys'.   
  
When they Apparated to the edge of the Manor, Wraith saw the Dark Lord glance at her from the corner of his eye. She knew he was remembering the last time he had brought her to the once grand building. But she looked up at him and stepped onto the grounds without hesitation, leaving him a step behind for a moment.   
  
They entered through the doors and Wraith heard faint voices coming from the parlor.   
  
"Will you retire for the night, my pet?" Voldemort asked her as they crossed the entrance hall.   
  
"It's early yet," Wraith replied evenly, pausing beside the parlor doors. "I'm still feeling rather sociable," she added as she opened the doors.   
  
Voldemort paused, surprised, but after a moment he followed her into the room.   
  
Rowle and Wormtail immediately jumped to their feet and bowed deeply to them both. Voldemort crossed to his chair beside the fire, gesturing to Wormtail to fetch him something to drink. Wormtail blinked wide eyes at the sight of Wraith, but hurried to do his master's bidding. Rowle, who had seen her at the Malfoys', did not stare at Wormtail had, but he cautiously watched her all the same.   
  
Wraith glanced briefly at her Lord before she took a chair near one of the windows, staring out into the night. "Good evening, Thorfinn," she said, turning her eyes to the large blonde Death Eater. There was the slightest chill to her voice, but he did not seem to notice and Voldemort was not paying attention.   
  
"My Lady," Rowle replied, bowing his head to her, "Have you returned to stay here at the Manor again?"   
  
"I have," she told him. "I've already reclaimed my tower."   
  
"Ah, very good, my Lady," Rowle said and it was obvious that he was unsure of what else to say. He cleared his throat. "My Lady, may I fetch you something to drink?"   
  
"Yes, thank you, Thorfinn," Wraith said, already looking out the window again.   
  
Rowle stood and approached the door, but before he reached it, it opened to admit another.  
  
"Rowle, I've taken care of them," Harper said, seeing only him at first, "It looks like Slughorn won't die on you just yet. His fever's broken." Harper glanced past Rowle and paled slightly at the sight of the Dark Lord. "Ah, my Lord, forgive me," he said quickly, stepping past Rowle to bow deeply to Voldemort. "Welcome back."   
  
Voldemort nodded just slightly to acknowledge Harper's salutation.   
  
"I'll be back in a moment, Harper," Rowle said, stepping out into the hall.   
  
Harper nodded absently and moved towards the couch to sit. But then his eyes fell upon Wraith and he grinned unabashedly. " _My Lady_ ," he said, hurrying over to her.   
  
Wraith turned her head and smiled to see him. "Harper," she said, her fondness clear in her voice as Harper took her hand and briefly pressed his lips to her fingers before releasing her. "Ah, someone who's actually  _happy_  to see me," Wraith said with half a laugh, "How refreshing."   
  
"You look marvelous, my Lady," Harper told her, "Quite well rested."   
  
"So, a poet's tongue you still possess," Wraith said, her eyes glittering with mirth.   
  
Another bright grin flashed across Harper's face and he knelt beside her chair,   
  
" _Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,  
Who is already sick and pale with grief   
That thou her maid art far more fair than she_."   
  
Wraith laughed, quickly recognizing the lines from  _Romeo & Juliet_.   
  
" _Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear_ ––"  
  
"–– _O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,  
That monthly changes in her circled orb,  
Lest that thy love prove likewise variable_."  
  
Harper's eyes lit up. "My Lady, you've been reading Shakespeare!"   
  
Wraith laughed, throwing her head back. "I've been reading a great deal," she told him, "But I have found that I enjoy Shakespeare. It is good to know I'm not alone in my liking."   
  
She gestured impatiently for him to stand and he did so quickly, taking a chair near her. Looking him over, it occurred to Wraith that she was not the only one changed by time. Though his humorous air remained, Harper seemed a great deal more settled into himself than he had been the last time she had seen him. He was certainly a few inches taller and a thin moustache now covered his lip.   
  
"It is good to see you again, Harper," she told him truthfully. "I believe I have missed you." She tilted her head to one side, "But I thought you were assigned to Hogsmeade?"   
  
"I was," Harper said with a small sigh, "But the prisoners below recently made a foolhardy attempt at escape. Rowle asked for better assistance than Wormtail alone and I was,  _ahem_ , volunteered."   
  
"You sound disappointed," Wraith commented.   
  
"Perhaps a little," Harper said, affording an air of exaggerated melancholy. "I did like Hogsmeade."   
  
"Perhaps I can see to it that you are returned there," Wraith suggested.   
  
Harper laughed, shaking his head. "Are you kidding, my Lady?" he said with a smile, "Now that you have returned, I am quite happy to remain here."   
  
Wraith returned his smile, honestly quite glad to have Harper there to keep her laughing.   
  
They looked up briefly as Rowle returned to the room. The large man crossed quickly to them and offered a goblet of wine to Wraith. She accepted it with a soft thank you and immediately turned her attention back to Harper.   
  
"I heard you mention that Slughorn's fever had broken," she said, "Has he been unwell?"   
  
"Very," Harper said, looking a little guilty. "But he seems a little better now. He's not a young man, you see, and I don't think the dungeon is the best place to stay healthy."   
  
"Hm," Wraith murmured, taking a sip of wine. Her mind whirled beneath her calm mask. "Tell me," she said, changing the subject, "What is your favorite play of Shakespeare's?"   
  
"Oh,  _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ ," Harper replied at once, "For certainty. Yours?"   
  
" _Twelfth Night_ , I think," Wraith said. "As a whole, I think I prefer his comedies to the rest, though  _Macbeth_  was very good reading."   
  
" _Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under 't_ ," Harper murmured under his breath, his eyes locked with hers.   
  
Wraith's smile sharpened slightly and saw a shiver run under Harper's skin. "Quite so," she whispered.


	43. Mercy

_"Death's a capricious thing, innit?"  
"Yes. Yes, she is."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith spoke softly with Harper until she had finished the wine brought to her by Rowle. As she drained the last of it, a sudden idea came to her. She leaned in closer to Harper and he did the same at her cue.   
  
"Harper, I want you to do me a favor," she murmured softly, "Leave the room. In about five minutes, I will meet you at the dungeon door."   
  
Harper blinked at her and then nodded solemnly. He lifted her hand to his lips before he stood. "Goodnight, my Lady," he said, "I am glad that you've returned."   
  
Wraith smiled easily at him and nodded her head. Harper crossed the room, stopping only to bow once more to the Dark Lord. "My Lord," he murmured before he took his leave.   
  
Wraith sat at the window for a moment longer before she sighed and stood as well. But she did not leave the room. Instead, she crossed to where Voldemort sat and took the other chair placed before the fireplace. "Is it good to be home, my Lord?" she asked, drawing his eyes to her.   
  
"It is," Voldemort admitted. He tilted his head to the side as he considered her. "Reading  _Shakespeare_ , my pet?"   
  
Wraith raised a brow. "You were listening, then?"   
  
"Not intently," Voldemort told her.   
  
"Yes, I've been reading Shakespeare, my Lord," Wraith said, "along with Tennyson, Yeats, and several others. I enjoy them as well as Wizarding authors. I spent many days reading while you were gone. I expanded my horizons a bit."   
  
The briefest scowl passed over Voldemort's face, only long enough for Wraith to see it. "I'd have assumed you would spend your time better," he said.   
  
"My Lord, I refuse to be prejudice in my reading," Wraith told him bluntly, "I read based on what I enjoy;  _not_  on whatever the author's blood-status was. After all, they are long dead and past caring themselves." She tilted her head, matching her Lord. "If fact, I likely could name a few authors that you would enjoy."   
  
"I doubt it," Voldemort replied evenly.   
  
"I don't know, my Lord," Wraith said slowly, "One Niccolo Machiavelli's writings would appeal to you, I believe. ––' _If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared_.'"   
  
"Hmph. There could be sense to that, but then I was already aware of that," Voldemort said dismissively.   
  
" _'Better to be feared than loved–– if you cannot be both_ ," Wraith murmured.   
  
Voldemort smiled slightly at that. "Personally, I do prefer fear."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith said, her voice low, "I know."   
  
Voldemort's smile grew and became infinitely colder.   
  
Wraith stood, pushing away from her chair. "I think I'll take a bath," she said slowly, closing the distance between her and the Dark Lord, "and then I'll seek my bed for the night." She reached out a hand, gently brushing her fingertips along the line of Voldemort's jaw. Then she curtsied before him, bowing her head. As she straightened again, she saw Voldemort's eyes following her intently. "My Lord," she murmured before she turned and left the room.   
  
Wraith moved quickly, nearly running down the hall to where Harper waited at the heavy door that led down to the dungeons.   
  
"My Lady," Harper said quietly, bowing his head to her.   
  
"Quickly," she told him.   
  
Harper nodded and pulled open the door for her. They slipped into the dungeon, descending the stairs smoothly.   
  
"Take me to Slughorn first," Wraith ordered.   
  
"First?" Harper asked, but when Wraith did not reply, he simply nodded again and led the way. They stopped before one cell and Wraith couldn't help but wince at the sight of Horace Slughorn. The man was huddled in the far corner of the cell, his once plump frame severely diminished. Harper opened the cell door, allowing Wraith to step inside.   
  
Slughorn stirred at the soft sound of her footfall and he began to breathe harshly. "Are you here to kill me?" he demanded, his voice barely a whisper.   
  
"No," Wraith told him, kneeling beside him, "No, quite the opposite, Horace."   
  
She gently touched her hand to his forehead, felt the cold sweat upon his skin left from his broken fever. But as she reached with her power to see deeper, she saw that sickness remained like a black growth on his spirit. Wraith closed her eyes and took a breath, allowing the fire of her magicks to burn away that sickness. Slughorn's eyes fluttered closed and his breath was suddenly easier.  
  
" _Merde_ ," she heard Harper whisper in amazement behind her.    
  
When Wraith stood once more, Slughorn stared up at her in shock, unable to find words to speak. She smiled slightly and turned her back on him, stepping out of the cell again.   
  
"Who else?" she asked Harper.   
  
The young man was smiling, though he was unsure what the Wraith had in mind. "There's only one other who could use some help," he told her. He led her over to another cell and Wraith recognized the woman immediately.   
  
"Hestia Jones," she murmured, making the woman open her eyes to see her.   
  
An angry flush came to the woman's pale cheeks and she immediately rose shakily to her feet, hands clenched at her sides. Wraith saw the half-closed and angry wounds upon her face and arms. She looked to Harper without a word and he opened the cell for her. Hestia glanced between them and stepped back nervously when Wraith entered her cell.   
  
"What do you want?" Hestia asked harshly, "And what did you do to Horace?"   
  
"I healed him," Wraith told her, "Just as I'll heal you, if you'll allow it."   
  
Hestia gaped at her, thoroughly confused. "…Why?" she asked in a whisper.   
  
Wraith considered her answer, only coming to realizing it herself. "Because I brought you here," she told the woman, "And I've come to believe that your lives are my responsibility. I cannot improve them––But I can help you keep them."   
  
She held out her hand, waiting. Hestia stared at her a moment longer and then nodded, tears rolling down her grim-streaked face. Wraith stepped closer, touching her hand to the deep cut on Hestia's forehead. The skin around the wound was red, warning Wraith that it had likely become infected. Wraith felt her power roll from her like a gentle fire, burning away the infection as she had Slughorn's sickness. Then she very gently ran her finger along the wound, closing it. She did the same for the wounds on the woman's arms, finding more not visible to the naked eye as she went.   
  
Finally, she sighed and stepped away from Hestia. "I'll be checking in on you, now that I've returned to stay at the Manor," she said. "I'll not let any of you die on me. I've enough blood on my conscience," she added softly.   
  
Hestia, like Slughorn, had no words. Satisfied, Wraith turned and left her, and Harper closed the door behind her.   
  
As they walked back up the stairs, Harper touched a hand to Wraith's arm, making her pause. "Merciful Death," was all he murmured.   
  
Wraith smiled just a little at the title. "I'd say that all of this is none of the Dark Lord's concern," she said, "Would you agree?"   
  
"Oh, most certainly, my Lady," Harper replied with a grin.   
  
Before the door, Wraith came to a complete stop, turning on the top stair to fully face Harper. She smiled slowly and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "That's my boy," she murmured.       
  
  
  
  
Little less than an hour later, Voldemort climbed the stairs of his Wraith's tower, pausing before the door at the top. He lifted a hand and knocked twice. A moment later, he heard the door unlock and he pushed it open. He stepped inside, glancing around the circular room. The light was dim and yet warm, the fireplace its only source.   
  
Voldemort's eyes found her curled as comfortable as a cat upon the chaise beneath one of the tall windows, an open book in her hands. She wore a dark nightgown, with a silken robe thrown over it, her raven-hair was damp and pushed back from her face, now bare of make-up. Voldemort closed the door behind him as their eyes met. "My pet," he said, "I thought to stay awhile with you."   
  
"For a little while," Wraith told him. "I am actually tired enough to seek my bed."   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly in pensive thought. "Perhaps I would join you."   
  
Wraith smiled slowly, her eyes glittering in the warm light. "Not this night, my Lord," she said simply.   
  
"Hm," Voldemort crossed to what had been his chair set before the fire, "You sound so very certain, pet."   
  
"Oh, I am," Wraith assured him, watching him as he sat down.   
  
"Is that so?" There was a dangerous edge to the Dark Lord's voice, but Wraith simply smiled.   
  
"Heaven forbid that you actually have to  _work_  for something, my Lord," she said, on the edge of a laugh. She closed the book she held and set it aside, rising to her feet.   
  
Voldemort's gaze followed her as she came closer to him. "So," he said, his eyes raking over her, "it isn't just the dress and the make-up. You actually have grown up in my time away."   
  
"How good of you to notice, my Lord," she replied. She held up a hand and twisted it in the air. A goblet appeared clasped in her fingers and she offered it to him. Voldemort took it, reaching out slowly to do so.   
  
As Wraith smiled easily down at him and started to turn, Voldemort realized something.   
  
"Wraith," he said, rather sharply, "I find something strange."   
  
"Yes, my Lord?" Wraith said, pausing to look back at him.   
  
"The bond between us," he began, his eyes narrowed to slits of red, "I have opened it––and yet I do not sense you. If you were not standing before me; if my eyes were not upon you––I would not know you were here."   
  
Again, Wraith smiled at him, slow and dark. "Yes, my Lord."   
  
Voldemort felt a flash of ire and he leaned forward to set the goblet of wine upon the table. "What have you been doing, my Wraith?" he demanded with a hiss.   
  
Wraith's smile went sharp as she turned to fully face him again. "Turnabout is fair play, my Lord," she said around that smile, her hands on her hips. "I had a great deal of time on my hands in your absence, my  _Lord_ ," she told him, "and in that time…I learned a few… _tricks_." She leaned down, playing her hands upon the armrests of his chair. "So,  _yes_ , I can hide from you now." Her lips brushed across his hollow cheek, but he remained stoic. "…Should I choose," she added, pulling back so that their eyes met.   
  
Voldemort's jaw clenched and Wraith saw him grip the armrests tightly as if he fought the urge to strike at her.   
  
"You needn't be so concerned, my Lord," she said, "I've not the control that  _you_  do of our bond––I cannot––would not––stop you from taking power through me. If you pressed, you would still be able to find me through it. But there isn't a woman in the world who would want their every move made aware of to someone else. I am no different."   
  
Appeased slightly by her assurances, he nodded once, his eyes not leaving hers. "Sit down, pet," he told her quietly.   
  
"Are you certain?" she asked him, her face still close to his.   
  
"And why wouldn't I be?" he asked in return.   
  
"You did say once, before you left, that you did not want me to become your weakness," she reminded him, lifting one slim brow.   
  
Voldemort considered her a moment and then smiled slowly. "Sit down," he said again.   
  
"As you wish," Wraith murmured, flashing white teeth in the near dark. She lifted the skirt of her nightgown and straddled him in the chair. "My Lord," she added as her hands went around the back of his neck.   
  
And much like a snake striking, she kissed him. Voldemort felt a swift feeling of surprise, but his hands circled her waist, feeling the cool of her skin beneath the thin gown. Wraith tilted his head back as she deepened the kiss, biting gently at his mouth as one kiss bled into another. Voldemort kept one hand at the small of her back, but let the other drift up towards her shoulders and then curl into her raven-black hair.   
  
There was a change, he thought, not just in her appearance, but in this. There was no fear left in her, he realized with a dawning awareness. The only hesitation in her touch was deliberate and meant to tease and entice.   
  
A low sound escaped his throat unconsciously and he pressed her body against his. Wraith all but purred as she felt a sting of triumph in the fever of her blood.   
  
But too soon for the Dark Lord's liking, she pulled back, drawing breath as she did so. Then she smiled wickedly once again. She gently removed his hands from her waist and started to stand.   
  
"Wraith," Voldemort said, catching her again.   
  
"Suffer, my Lord," she told him, still smiling, "That's all you'll get from me tonight."   
  
Voldemort scowled as something occurred to him. "Are you punishing me for my long absence, pet?"   
  
Wraith laughed softly and pulled away from his touch. "Maybe a little," she admitted, grinning with dark humor. "But whatever my reasons, my Lord, they remain my own. I'll say goodnight now."   
  
For a moment, Voldemort considered arguing with her––but then saw her resolve clear in her teasing eyes. With an irritated sigh, he pushed up from the chair. He stood before her and she stared up at him in turn. "We are far from finished, my Wraith," he told her firmly.   
  
"Truer words were never spoken, my Lord," she said in turn. She took a deliberate step back and Voldemort heard the door open to his left. "Goodnight, my Lord," she told him and though she smiled still there was no room for argument in her tone.   
  
"Hmph," Voldemort sneered, "Goodnight, pet." With that, he turned and a moment later he was gone.   
  
Wraith gestured at the door and it shut sharply, the lock clicking back into place.   
  
"Oh yes," she whispered around her own sneer, her eyes upon the door, "We are far,  _far_  from finished, my  _Lord_."


	44. Changed

_"We do what we do, because of who we are. If we did otherwise, we would not be ourselves. I will do what I have to do. And I will do what I must."_  
  
  
  
  
The next week passed quietly, while the Dark Lord took back the reins of his new empire. Wraith thought them more akin to puppet strings, but she did not speak this thought aloud where anyone would hear. Voldemort did not seek her company alone, leaving her to presume that he had not liked her teasing that first night.   
  
Just as well, in her opinion. The longer she kept him at a distance, the more time she would before the unavoidable matter of her innocence came into question. She had no clue as to how to explain that away, save to possibly blame it on Gavin––It would be no loss to the world if the Dark Lord were to take his anger out on the man, after all. But she had already confessed to Voldemort that Gavin had never gone so far as to rape her in Azkaban; to change her story now would only raise further questions. So while the Dark Lord avoided her company, she in turn did not seek him out either.   
  
She kept to wearing her mask of amused indifference whenever she was not alone. She felt as though she were rather practicing it upon Rowle and Wormtail, the only constant fixtures within the Manor besides Harper. And Wraith felt terribly grateful for Harper's presence. In him, she had an ally; he was utterly faithful to her and his complete subservience in public helped Wraith cultivate the image that she wanted to project to her fellow Death Eaters.   
  
A little more than a week after she had returned to the Manor, she had a visitor that she had quite expected. It was early that evening, the sun had only just begun to set, when Wraith heard someone knock at her tower door. A smile broke out over her face when she opened the door to reveal Snape. Without a word, she took his hand in hers and pulled him into the room.   
  
"About time you showed up," she said dryly, gesturing for him to sit.   
  
Snape crossed to the pair of chairs that sat before the fireplace. He avoided the one that the Dark Lord usually chose and took the other. "What do you mean?" he asked, a little crossly. He looked her over, noting that once more she was wearing a strapless dress, this one black with edges of gold along the bodice.   
  
"Well, to be honest, I expected you yesterday," Wraith admitted. She walked out of his line of sight to sit on the edge of her bed. Reaching for her boots, she glanced at the back of his chair. "You're quiet," she commented.   
  
"And you're in a better mood than I expected," Snape replied wryly.   
  
Wraith stood, walking across the room to sit at a vanity table Snape was fairly certain had not been there the last time he had been in the room. Wraith met his eyes in the mirror there and smirked just slightly, saying nothing in return.   
  
"Are you alright?" Snape asked her bluntly.   
  
"I'm fine," she replied, drawing a line of black around her eyes. "The thirteenth has come and gone, Severus––and I've had no nightmares." Her smile gone, she turned in her chair to face him.   
  
"More than that, whatever was here watching me before watches me no longer. The day before the thirteenth, I thought I sensed it again––But it felt almost like it was…waiting for something. And then the thirteenth came…and it vanished again. Something has changed." She smirked again, turning back to the mirror, "Perhaps it's just that I have changed…but I don't think my ghostly stalker knows what to make of me any more than the Dark Lord does."   
  
"It wouldn't surprise me," Snape said, finally unbending enough to smile slightly. He watched curiously as she dusted dark blue powder over her eyes. "Why do you bother with that nonsense?" he asked her, "You never did before."   
  
"I think of it as a mask," Wraith replied, applying a dark burgundy color to her lips, "along with the dress and the attitude… Or perhaps armor would be more accurate." She looked at him in the mirror and smiled a little. "I am, after all, the Dark Lord's Lady Death. My fellow Death Eaters already fear me––but I want more than their fear. I want their  _awe_ ," she told him, her smile turning sharp, "I want their  _loyalty_."   
  
She broke her gaze away from his, perhaps to avoid the uneasy look in his eyes.   
  
"To get it, I must act the part. The Dark Lord set me above them long ago––and he gave me power over them with the fear he instilled. I am simply choosing to use that power. This?" she said, gesturing to her make-up, "This is all that they see. This mask gives me distance. The more distance I have, the more I see. And the more I see, the more I can use."   
  
She dared a glance at him again, but hastily dropped her eyes again. "Please––don't look at me like that," she all but snapped at him.   
  
"You are a singularly frightening creature, child," Snape said very quietly.   
  
Wraith hid her face behind her hands for a moment, leaning her arms upon the vanity. When she dropped her hands again, Snape saw in her reflection that her eyes were bright with the tears that had threatened to fall moments before. Something in her face had gone hard and sharp, her eyes all the more like glass.   
  
"I  _will_  make use of this power, Severus," she told him firmly, "I will play this role to the best of my ability until the moment comes that I can break free."   
  
"I only want you to be cautious," Snape told her, "The longer you pretend to be something, the more that you actually become it."   
  
"And you would know that better than anybody, wouldn't you, Severus?" Wraith asked sharply, standing suddenly.   
  
Snape found himself of his feet as well and he quickly crossed the room to her, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him. "This path you walk will only grow darker and more dangerous the further you go," he told her, "Take care not to lose yourself along the way. You've a great deal more to lose than I do, Wraith; Your love still  _lives_."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She gently pulled her arm free of his hold and then placed her hands on either side of his face, looking up at him.   
  
"I'm sorry," she said softly, "You're right. I will be careful, but I need to do this."   
  
"I know," Snape replied. "And the part of me that isn't terribly worried for you thinks that you're brilliant."   
  
Wraith had to smile at that, a touch of her sharp mask returning. She released him to cross back to her bed. She took up the long black coat that Snape had seen her conjure at Hogwarts. As he watched, however, the ebony color of the fabric bled away to pure white.   
  
"The Dark Lord is visiting the Ministry tonight," Wraith said, answering Snape's unspoken question, "Only a short visit. He wants his Lady Death on display. Tonight we show the world that we both still live."   
  
"And how do you feel about that?" Snape asked, "Taking up the mantle of Lady Death again?"   
  
"Ambivalent," Wraith replied tartly, "…scared," she admitted then, slipping the snow-white coat on. "I'll avoid death as long as I can. I don't want any more blood on my hands."   
  
"You'll find ways around it," Snape said, "As you have done in the past."   
  
"Very true," Wraith said, "But Severus there may be no avoiding it tonight. The Dark Lord wants a display––and what other display would he ask of me?"   
  
Snape was silent, unsure of what to say to comfort. "Who else is going tonight?"   
  
"Yaxley, of course," Wraith said, "Rabastan, Rookwood,––I think that Avery is going."   
  
"So, a small group?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith replied, nodding.   
  
"Do you want me to come along?" Snape asked softly.   
  
"No," Wraith said immediately. "Thank you, Severus, but no. I will be fine."   
  
Snape did not call her on the lie.     
  
  
  
  
It was late in the evening at the Ministry, yet there were many witches and wizards running about at their tasks within. There were still a few signs left from the battle that had taken place there a little more than a year before. The colossal statue in the center of the atrium bore many cracks and pieces of the mortar near the base had been blasted away and never replaced.   
  
People moving through the atrium went quickly, speaking in soft tones as if in the presence of a funeral. But even those soft murmurs went silent as the emerald flames of one of the fireplaces roared up and a group of hooded figures appeared from within it.   
  
There were six of them, all of their faces hidden by the shadow of their cloaks, but one stood out among them. Though five wore cloaks of deep black, one wore white. The six moved silently across the still atrium, the figure in white walking slightly in front of the rest. Every eye in the room followed them as they crossed to the stairs that led to the lower floors and disappeared from sight.   
  
Almost the moment that they were out of sight, the whispers filled the atrium again, this time carrying a note of panic and fear. When they had reached level ten, the figure in white stopped, turning to look at one of the others. Lord Voldemort stepped away from the rest to stand at her side. Together, they walked down the long dark hall that led to the old courtroom.   
  
As they approached, Wraith felt a chill in her bones and easily recognize the source.  _Dementors_ , she thought, the shiver running unbidden down her spine. Looking ahead, she saw a number of them standing guard over a collection of ragged looking men and women, all bound with chains and smelling heavily of fear. The closer they came, the more the chill grew inside Wraith and for a moment she lost herself in it, coming to a stop.   
  
 _"Kill him," she heard her Lord's voice command her and in her mind flashed the face of the nameless man; the first life she took for the Dark Lord––Almost as soon as he had appeared, his face faded into darkness and she was back in her dismal cell in Azkaban, with Gavin pressing her down against the stone floor, his breath hot on her face––"Hide, precious," a soft frantic voice urged her, "Don't let him hear you!"_    
  
"Wraith?"   
  
She opened her eyes, though she didn't remember closing them. She felt the Dark Lord's hand upon her arm and looked up at him. "Apologies, my Lord," she murmured, "The Dementors…It has been some time since I've encountered them. I'm afraid I'm out of practice."   
  
"Do you wish you wait here?" Voldemort asked her, his eyes narrowed.   
  
"No," she replied firmly. "I am not such a coward."   
  
The Dark Lord smiled thinly and they continued down the hall. The prisoners shied away from them as they came closer. Their faces were slightly illuminated by the torches on the walls and the prisoners were just able to see Voldemort's inhuman face and caught the sight of Wraith's odd crystal eyes in the shadow. They walked past the Dementors and their prisoners to enter the courtroom itself.   
  
A witch was chained to the chair in the center of the room, facing the raised seats that lined the room. Sitting above her, gazing down imperiously was a tall man with dark hair and beard, and several people seated around him. The man frowned slightly at the interruption, but his face cleared when Yaxley lowered his hood.   
  
"Runcorn," Yaxley said, nodding to the man as he and the rest stepped up to where he sat. "Forgive the intrusion, but our Lord and patron wished to see how well our progress has been."   
  
Runcorn's eyes flickered past Yaxley to where Wraith and Voldemort waited and he paled dangerously. "I-I see," he said, stumbling over the words as his throat went dry. He scrambled to his feet and bowed respectively to Voldemort. "M-my Lord," he said, "It is an honor to meet you in the flesh."   
  
"It is an honor to have a man so dedicated to his task," Voldemort said smoothly, his high voice cold as the Dementors' chill.   
  
Rookwood and Rabastan moved forward to greet the other Ministry employees that had been watching the interrogation.   
  
"Ah," Yaxley said, obviously pleased as he puffed up with pride. "My Lord, allow me to introduce Pius Thicknesse, our Minister of Magic."   
  
A thin man with a tidy beard stood automatically and crossed to bow deeply to the Dark Lord. Something about him jarred Wraith's instincts and she stepped forward to stand beside her Lord, lower her hood as she did so. Thicknesse glanced at her with a slightly blank gaze.   
  
"Minister," Yaxley said, beginning to sweat a little, "This is our Lord's Lady Wraith."   
  
Wraith glanced at Yaxley before she offered a hand to Thicknesse, who took it lightly in his and bowed his head over it. "My Lady," he said, lifting his eyes to hers quite briefly.   
  
In that moment, Wraith saw past the mask and chains bound tightly around the man's consciousness––and briefly caught sight of the  _true_ Pius Thicknesse. The man was screaming inside.   
  
"Pius," she said softly and for an instant the man's inner self came to the surface, looking at her with maddened and frightened eyes.   
  
Yaxley made a slight gesture and Thicknesse released Wraith's hand, stepping back with his hands held behind his back.   
  
"A marvelous puppet, Yaxley," Wraith said slowly, her eyes never leaving Thicknesse's blank face. "But I wonder if it is wise…?"   
  
Voldemort looked to his Wraith in curiosity. "Speak on, pet," he said softly.   
  
"That man is on the ragged edge of insanity, my Lord, beneath the chains that Yaxley has so cleverly wrapped around him. And puppet strings have a tendency to fray and break."   
  
"Not mine," Yaxley said bitingly.   
  
"If you insist," Wraith said, sparing him a disparaging glance. "But what if something were to happen to you, Yaxley? We do live in such  _uncertain_  times, after all. What would happen to your puppet then?"   
  
When Yaxley found no answer to that, Wraith turned to Voldemort.   
  
"Better, I think, to have a man of  _true_  loyalty in such a position of power, my Lord."   
  
"You do make an excellent point, my Wraith," Voldemort conceded, looking Thicknesse over with a critical eye.   
  
"And since he is already pulling the strings, perhaps Yaxley himself should step into the position," Wraith suggested, making the man blink in surprise at her. "It could prove to be the sensible thing to do."   
  
"I shall think on it," Voldemort said, nodding, "Thank you, pet."   
  
Wraith bowed her head to him before she stepped away. Curiosity drew her over to the edge of the platform and she gazed down at the witch bound in the chair below.   
  
The witch looked up at her in fear and awe and for just a moment Wraith allowed the pity she felt for the woman show on her face. A single tear ran silently down the witch's face and Wraith turned away from her again.


	45. Bitter

_"The tongue is most remarkable. For we use it both to taste out sweet wine and bitter poison, thus also do we utter words both sweet and sour with the same tongue."_  
  
  
  
  
A few weeks later, the Dark Lord called his Death Eaters to the Malfoys' manor home to discuss what had been accomplished since his return. He, along with his Wraith, had made quick appearances at prominent places in the Wizarding world, fueling rumors of their return. But, as with his disappearance, no one knew for certain and no one dared to find the truth.   
  
As the weeks passed by, Voldemort took further note of the changes in his Wraith. She had always had a sharp mind and a tongue to match it, but now she exercised it. She suggested where others dared not speak, and many of the times that she spoke her mind, the Dark Lord found himself agreeing with her. She even carried herself differently, Voldemort mused. She held herself as the nobility of her blood demanded.   
  
There were still traces of the wane girl that he had brought out of Azkaban, but the Wraith that stood by his side now was not the same girl that had shied away from the shadows and ghosts of Slytherin manor. She was not the weakened girl he had left at Hogwarts. Wraith had come into her own and as Snape had said, she was now at ease with her power.   
  
The Dark Lord found his Wraith quite changed––and he liked the changes he saw. Sharp tongue and all, she had never proved more useful to him. And she watched him as he watched her, with patient and ever-waiting eyes, a dark promise in them.   
  
Voldemort settled himself into one of the opulent chairs in the drawing room of the Malfoys' home, the same room that his Wraith had found him weeks before. He had arrived alone, wondering if and when she would find him again. He had only a few minutes of quiet before he heard the sharp click of her boots approaching.   
  
He looked up just as she stepped into the doorway. She wore a new dress and her familiar smirk. "My Lord," she said, bowing her head to him.  
  
Voldemort felt a smirk tugging at his lips as he looked her over. As always when she knew that she would be on display, she had donned dark make-up that contracted sharply with her pale skin. Voldemort considered her dress, intrigued by the embroidered green snakes that were twisted into patterns against the black.   
  
The Dark Lord stood slowly, gesturing for his Wraith to come closer. Wraith's smile widened slightly as she complied. When she had drawn close enough Voldemort reached out a hand to touch one of the serpentine designs of her gown. "I like this one," he told her.   
  
"I thought you would," Wraith said, tilting her head to the side.   
  
"I hope you'll wear it again in the future. It suits you."   
  
"Thank you, my Lord," Wraith replied, lifting her eyes to his.   
  
Voldemort's hand drifted up along her side, his eyes never leaving hers as his hand came to rest lightly against the curve of her breast. Wraith's eyes slowly closed and she leaned into his touch, placing her hand on his arm in unspoken permission. Voldemort leaned down, his mouth brushing against her ear as he pressed her more firmly against him.   
  
Wraith sighed, the soft sound escaping parted lips. "It occurs to me, my Lord," she said gently, "that this is neither the time nor place."   
  
"Damn your tongue, but I believe you are right," Voldemort replied evenly. He released her, allowing her to take a small step back. He was pleased to see that promise still in her eyes.   
  
Wraith turned her head towards the door in a sudden surprised motion and Voldemort quickly followed her gaze. A moment later, a small head peeked around the corner.   
  
"Rabe," Wraith said softly.   
  
The little boy looked from her to the Dark Lord, his dark eyes holding only a child's curiosity and no trace of fear.  
  
"Rabian,  _no_!" Narcissa cried from the hall. The woman rushed into sight, snatching the errant boy up into her arms. She looked into the room, her eyes wide with the fear that the boy possessed not at all. "M-my Lord, I am so sorry," she said swiftly, fumbling with the words as fear took her tongue.   
  
"Calm yourself, Narcissa;" Wraith told her as stepped forward, "The boy did no harm." She smiled slightly at Rabian, strangely pleased to see him again. "He does have a habit of getting away from you, doesn't he?"   
  
"Ever since he learned to walk," Narcissa replied disparagingly.   
  
Rabe suddenly reached his short arms out towards Wraith in clear demand.   
  
Wraith blinked at him, hesitating to move closer. "He does seem to have his mother's demanding nature," she said dryly, "And speaking of his mother––is she here?"   
  
"She hasn't arrived yet," Narcissa said, cautiously taking a step closer.   
  
"Well, in that case," Wraith said, holding out her arms. Narcissa gently handed the boy over to Wraith's waiting arms. Rabe grabbed a handful of her dark hair, smiling up at her. "Hello again, Rabe," Wraith murmured gently.   
  
"Pano?" the little boy said plainly.   
  
"Perhaps later," Wraith told him.   
  
"Wraith?"   
  
She looked back to the Dark Lord, who watched her curiously with narrowed eyes. "Young Rabian and I met the last time I was here," she explained, "I was playing music to pass the time and he heard me, came to visit. And now he seems to have taken to me." She saw the idea passed through her Lord's eyes and she all but glared at him. "Don't go getting any ideas, my Lord," she said, a touch sharp, "I'm far from ready to be content with retiring. But," she amended, "as you've made it clear that you intend for me to bear children…it doesn't hurt to practice a little."   
  
"With  _Bellatrix's_  son?" Voldemort asked.   
  
"The child is not his mother," Wraith told him.   
  
They distinctly heard the front doors of the manor open and close from below.   
  
"Oh, damn," Wraith muttered, "speak of the devil…"   
  
Mere moments later, Bellatrix and her husband appeared in the doorway. "Get your hands off my son!" Bellatrix practically screeched when she saw Wraith holding Rabian.   
  
"Bella," the Dark Lord said, stopping the woman in her tracks. Bellatrix and Rodolphus quickly bowed as they realized their Lord was present. "Bellatrix," Voldemort continued, "Wraith would not harm your son. The boy has taken a liking to her; that is all. Keep your hysterics to yourself."   
  
Bellatrix looked like she had just swallowed something quite unpleasant, but she said nothing.   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes and looked to Narcissa. "Alright, Rabe, back to your aunt," she told the boy, passing him into Narcissa's arms.   
  
"Cissy, take him away from here," Bella said at once, turning her venom on her sister, "This is no place for him."   
  
Narcissa glanced at Voldemort and then Wraith, waiting for some signal from them. Wraith nodded just slightly and Narcissa looked relieved. She quickly fled the room without a backwards glance.   
  
"I see motherhood hasn't changed you much, Bella  _dear_ ," Wraith remarked dryly.   
  
Bellatrix's eyes narrowed and Wraith suddenly did not like the look in the older woman's eyes. "But  _you_  are much changed, aren't you,  _my Lady_?" Bella said, her voice low and venomous, "I suppose that your young lover from Hogsmeade had a hand in that?"   
  
Bella was rewarded by the quicksilver gleam of fear in Wraith's eyes, though the girl quickly recovered her dispassionate expression.   
  
"Nothing to say, my Lady?" Bella cooed, "Both Quincy and Avery saw you walking more than once through the streets with a stranger. They found it unusual enough to mention it to me a few days ago." Bellatrix tilted her head to one side, pleased with Wraith's stoic silence in the face of the accusation. "So tell us…was it your little  _pet_  Harper that you meeting with in the night?"   
  
" _Merde_ ," Wraith muttered, not moving her lips. She and Edwin must have grown careless in those last few months… Wraith did something then that she so rather did––She quickly reached into Bellatrix's mind to find the truth. She had to stifle her sigh of utter relief: The woman truly did not know who it was that Wraith had been meeting. Reassured by that at least, Wraith afforded Bellatrix a cool and disparaging look, yet still said nothing. She felt the Dark Lord's presence just behind her and she found that she didn't dare say a word.   
  
"Oh, come now," Bellatrix said into the silence, "Don't keep us all in suspense."   
  
"Bellatrix, that is quite enough," Voldemort said with a somnolent sigh, "You and Rodolphus join the others waiting downstairs. We'll join you shortly."   
  
Again, Bella sneered at Wraith, but she did as her Lord asked and turned away. She and Rodolphus quickly disappeared down the hall. Voldemort stepped past his Wraith to close the door behind them.   
  
"Bellatrix has quite the imagination for gossip," the Dark Lord commented, his voice deceptively light. When Wraith  _still_  remained silent, he turned back to her, his red eyes piercing her. "…There is no truth to such gossip…is there,  _pet_?"   
  
Wraith slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze, her face unreadable as stone.   
  
"…Do you want an apology?"   
  
Fury leapt into Voldemort's eyes like flames and Wraith saw his fist close tightly around his wand.   
  
" _What_?"   
  
Wraith felt her own fury bubbling under her skin and fought to contain it. She glanced at the closed door and sent a spark of power to quickly lock it. She put a silencing charm on it as well––she did not want anyone to hear her scream if it came to that.   
  
"I simply asked if you wanted me to apologize, my Lord."   
  
"So that rumor that Bellatrix uttered is the  _truth_?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith replied simply, "I took a lover in your absence––my Lord."   
  
"You––" Words seemed to briefly fail the Dark Lord as he gazed in disbelief and rage at her. "You conniving little  _whore_ ," he hissed, his control wavering.   
  
"As you like, my Lord," Wraith murmured.   
  
The calm in her voice threw Voldemort a moment. "The term does not bother you?" he asked, his disbelief clear.   
  
"I've been collecting names since you brought me out of Azkaban," Wraith reminded him, "Adding one more to said collection bears no burden."   
  
"Who was it?" Voldemort demanded as he approached her. " _Who was he_? Was it Harper, as Bella claimed?"   
  
"No," Wraith said, her lips twisting into a sneer. "He was no pawn of yours––nor of the Order's. And I am not  _stupid_  enough to give you his name."   
  
With a snarl, Voldemort lashed out to grab her roughly by the arm. Wraith felt the fury in her blood give way to only pain and she stifled a scream as her power was pulled from her,  _through_  her. Her knees buckled and she fell, kneeling at the Dark Lord's feet even as he still held her arm.   
  
"How dare you," he snarled, "How  _dare_  you insult me this way!?"   
  
"You  _left_  me there!" Wraith all but shrieked at him through the pain.   
  
Voldemort released her, stepping away to let her fall to the floor. Wraith took a single breath and was suddenly on her feet again.   
  
"I begged you to take me with you!" she reminded him, her teeth bared in a snarl of her own. "I  _begged_. And it is  _not_  in my nature to do so. You wounded my pride,  _Dark Lord_ , and I sought to wound yours in return!"   
  
"You stupid little fool," Voldemort hissed, "Did you really think you could tarnish  _my_  pride?"   
  
"Oh, don't pretend otherwise," Wraith scoffed, "Your anger alone tells me that I have tarnished it. If only because I gave what  _you_  wanted to someone else."   
  
She took a step towards him, power overflowing across her skin and ruffling her hair like a warm breeze.   
  
"You've only yourself to blame," she told him, "I was untouched and unclaimed when you abandoned me for that fruitless search of yours. I was all but  _putty_  in your hands, but  _you left me_! I wanted more! I wanted to be more than just your  _shadow_ ; an extension of your will! I wanted something that was  _mine_ ; something of my own; some  _aspect_  of control in my life! So  _yes_ ," she said, now mere inches from his face, "I took a lover––and I enjoyed…every… _minute_ …of… it!"   
  
Her head snapped to the side as the back of Voldemort's hand struck her across her cheek. A still and terrible silence followed that crack of skin against skin.   
  
Wraith breathed. Very slowly, she turned her head back. "…Are you finished?" she asked softly, utterly calm.   
  
Voldemort gazed down at her, his face impassive. "Yes," he said at last, "for now."   
  
"Then they are waiting for us," Wraith said, turning and walking to the door. But at the door, she paused, looking back. "…I was yours," she told him softly, "But you left me…and I had to become my own too. I am  _still_  yours, my Lord," she said, "but I will no longer be your ' _pet_ '. I cannot."   
  
Voldemort said nothing; he simply followed her out into the hall. In that perfect and heavy silence they walked down the stairs to the ground floor, entering the drawing room where everyone waited. Voldemort and Wraith walked up along the long table to the head. Voldemort sat first, gesturing for his Wraith to do the same.   
  
Wraith lowered herself into her chair and forcefully locked eyes with Bellatrix, who sat halfway down the table. Contempt in every line of her face, Wraith smiled slowly, letting her fury blaze in her eyes for Bellatrix alone.   
  
The older woman lost her triumphant expression and paled dangerously. Her eyes darted between the Wraith and the Dark Lord and when she saw no sign of the feud they had had, she felt a quiver of fear strike her heart. Meeting Wraith's eyes again, she steeled herself against the force of the girl's crystal gaze, but she could not hide her fear.


	46. Death's Warning

_"It pays to be obvious, especially if you have a reputation for subtlety."_  
  
  
  
  
The meeting was over sooner than anyone anticipated. It was almost as though the Dark Lord were eager to be finished with it. Slowly, the Death Eaters filed out of the drawing room, leaving the Malfoys' home as quickly as their feet could carry them. Bellatrix and Rodolphus were among the first to make their exit, though their path took them upstairs towards their room above. The Dark Lord stayed only long enough to speak briefly with Lucius and then he too was gone.   
  
Snape waited a moment in the entrance hall, expecting Wraith to quickly follow Voldemort––but she never appeared there. With a trace of concern, Snape glanced back into the drawing room to find that the girl had vanished. An odd sense of foreboding filled him. He knew Wraith well enough to have seen the shadows in her eyes and the tension that lay thinly between her and her Lord. Having no other recourse, Snape took his leave of the manor as well.   
  
Above on the second floor, Bellatrix hurried along the dark hall, her husband but a step behind her. "Damn it all," the woman muttered darkly, "That should have been the end of the girl. Did you see how she looked at me?"   
  
As she paused long enough to glare back at her husband, she felt a chill creep down her spine. Before she could react to it, she felt the cold sting a blade against her throat and she was pushed back against the wall.   
  
Wraith's crystal eyes burned in the dark of the hallway, staring into Bella's dark eyes. Without taking her eyes from Bellatrix, she pointed a finger at Rodolphus before he could move. " _Silence_ ," she murmured. Bella's eyes widened as Rodolphus froze in place, his mouth tightly shut. But from the frantic look in his eyes, Bellatrix knew he had been magically bound from helping her.   
  
"A dangerous thing indeed, to meddle in  _my_  affairs, Madame Lestrange," Wraith said softly, her voice sharp as glass.   
  
Bellatrix opened her mouth to speak and felt the dagger cut into the skin of her throat. At the sensation of her own blood creeping down her neck, Bellatrix fell silent as the dead.   
  
"This will be my  _only_  warning to you, Bella dear," Wraith told her, "Stay out of my business––or I will kill you."   
  
The threat was delivered so calmly, so very matter-of-fact, that Bellatrix felt no cause to doubt her. However––  
  
"The Dark Lord would kill you for it," she spat, finally finding her tongue again.   
  
"No, the Dark Lord would  _punish_  me," Wraith corrected her, "He would not kill me, Bella dear. I am more valuable than you."   
  
"You are  _nothing_  compared to me!" Bellatrix told her, her teeth bared in a hateful sneer, "I was loyal beyond all others. I suffered Azkaban for him!"   
  
"So did I," Wraith reminded her softly.   
  
" _I_  am the Dark Lord's most loyal, his most trusted––"   
  
"Very fine attributes–– however––what our Lord craves most, Bella, is power.  _I am power_ ," Wraith hissed, "The very embodiment of it. And clever and skilled as you are;  _loyal_  as you are…You are  _replaceable_. I am not."   
  
Wraith allowed those words and the truth behind them to sink in before she spoke again.   
  
"You will not beat me, Bellatrix. I far too above you now and you cannot reach me. But you have become an annoyance to me, Bella, and that was very foolish of you. I will not tolerate it, not from you."   
  
Bella's breath was harsh, her face flushed with anger and insult that she dare not give voice to. Wraith considered her, saw the pain that her words had caused, and felt the sharp sting of success.   
  
"Bellatrix, you are a witch of prodigious skill and your loyalty is commendable. You are among our Lord's best lieutenants. For your own sake––be satisfied with that."   
  
She released Bellatrix, stepping away from her and dropping the blade. Bellatrix remained where she was, but she brought a hand up to cover the cut Wraith's dagger had left. Wraith smiled and turned away.   
  
"There will be no second warning," she called back to the woman, releasing Rodolphus with a wave of her hand. "Sleep well, Bella dear."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith was unsurprised, when she returned to her tower, to find Voldemort waiting for her there. "My Lord," she said with a nod of her head, seeing him standing before the fireplace.   
  
"What kept you?" he asked her, his voice low as he turned to face her.   
  
"I had business to attend to," Wraith replied, not stepping away from the door.   
  
"Would this 'business' involve Bellatrix?"   
  
"How very astute of you, my Lord," Wraith said pleasantly, "Yes. Yes, it did."   
  
"I did warn you once that you were not allowed to kill her," Voldemort reminded her, his eyes narrowed.   
  
"She isn't dead yet," Wraith replied. "I simply gave her a warning that she should mind her own business. And I do believe that she took the warning to heart."   
  
"Close the door, Wraith," Voldemort ordered her, "and lock it."   
  
"As you wish, my Lord," Wraith said evenly, "Are we to continue our earlier conversation, then?"   
  
"We are."   
  
Wraith stepped fully into the room and shut the door, locking it as she did so. She allowed herself one deep breath before she turned back to fully face him.   
  
"…I'm not sorry," she told him.   
  
"Well," Voldemort said, slowly approaching her, "let's see if we can change that."   
      
  
  
  
Wraith lay curled upon the floor at the Dark Lord's feet, her breathing harsh and strained as she struggled to draw in air. After what seemed like an eternity to her, she saw heard the Dark Lord simply walk away from where she lay. A moment later, she heard the door open and close and his presence faded. Even after he was gone, she remained where she was, lacking the strength to move.   
  
It had been too long since he had last taken large amounts of her power from her. She had been terribly unprepared for the lasting pain it caused her. She had held back her screams for as long as she was able, if only to frustrate Voldemort, but eventually they had been ripped from her until her throat was raw and bleeding.   
  
When he had taken her even beyond screaming, he at last had seemed satisfied and stopped the pain. The abruptness of it hurt her almost as much as the pain itself had.   
  
So she lay there upon the floor and simply concentrated on drawing breath. But she felt agony take her again when she began to cough violently. She managed to rise up on one arm, covering her mouth with her free hand. She tasted the blood on her tongue before a dark pool of it fell from her lips to stain the floor.   
  
Bitterly, she spat the blood out and scowled. She turned her pounding head slightly to see the door.  _I'll not break so easily, Dark Lord_ , she swore silently, glaring at the door as if Voldemort still stood there.   
  
Weakness overtook her once more, but she forced herself to crawl over to her bed. It took all of the strength left to her to pull herself up into the bed, but there at last, she was able to lie still again.   
  
She felt her mind going gray at the edges, threatening unconsciousness, but she fought it off as a terrible thought occurred to her.   
  
The Dark Lord had taken a great deal of power from his Wraith––What did he intend to do with it?   
  
  
  
  
Several hours later, Wraith found the strength to sit up. She felt half-dried blood on her lip and scowled. She reached into the drawer beside her bed and pulled out a handkerchief, pressing it to her bloody nose.   
  
Her head still ached with lingering pain, and when something pounded upon her bedroom door, she winced sharply at the sound. Groaning, she forced herself to get out of bed and walked carefully to answer the door.   
  
She wasn't all that surprised to see Snape standing in her doorway, but she did not like the pale cast to his skin. When Snape saw the trace of blood still on her face and the bloodied cloth clutched in her hand, he went even paler.   
  
"Hello, Sev," Wraith said lightly, leaning against the doorframe.   
  
"The Dark Lord just burned several buildings in Hogsmeade to the ground," he told her.   
  
"So,  _that's_  what he did with it," Wraith murmured. Her eyes went wide as fear shot through her. " _Blackthorn_ ¬––Alexis, is she––?"   
  
"She's fine," Snape quickly assured her, "The bookshop was untouched."   
  
Wraith breathe a sigh of relief, "And the  _Hog's Head_?"   
  
"Also safe," Snape told her. "Wraith, what happened tonight? What sparked the Dark Lord's anger so?"   
  
Wraith sighed again, this time is was a soul-weary sound. "I was seen several times in Hogsmeade, Severus," she told him, turning away, "Walking with Edwin, though they do not know that much."   
  
She walked falteringly towards the fire and was grateful, but chagrined when Snape took her arm to help her over to the chair. She winced as she settled into the chair and then leaned back against it, looking impossibly tired.   
  
"Rumors have been circulating that I had a lover. Bellatrix was kind enough to throw that rumor in my face in front of the Dark Lord tonight."   
  
Snape cursed under his breath. "But they don't know––?"   
  
"They don't know it was Edwin I was meeting, no," Wraith said, "and gods willing they never will."   
  
"I take it that the Dark Lord confronted you with the rumor?" Snape asked dryly.   
  
"That he did," Wraith replied, "…and I didn't deny it."   
  
Snape stared at her. "…Are you mad?" he asked quite calmly.   
  
Wraith laughed weakly. "I certainly am," she said, smiling slightly, "But I couldn't think of a way around it. I told him that I took a lover to spite him. I got that particular idea from  _you_ , by the way. I told him that…he had wounded my pride when he left me behind and that I wanted to wound his in return. I said a great many things that I've wanted to say for a long time, but never dared before."   
  
"I'd assume that the Dark Lord didn't react well," Snape said, gesturing to the bloodied handkerchief the girl still held.   
  
Again, Wraith smirked. "Oh, he is  _thoroughly_  pissed off."   
  
Snape laughed humorlessly and then sobered. "Are you alright?" he asked her.   
  
"I'm fine," Wraith told him, "It wasn't as bad as it could have been."   
  
"Perhaps the Dark Lord has spent his anger tonight in Hogsmeade," Snape said.   
  
"If he has, I'll only spark it again," Wraith said darkly. "I'm not done with him yet."   
  
Snape looked at her for a long and terse moment. "You're going to get yourself killed, Wraith."   
  
"Only time will tell," she replied enigmatically. She stared into the fire in silence for a few minutes. "Okay," she said at last, "Tell me how bad it was."   
  
"Several serious injuries, but no casualties reported so far," Snape said.   
  
"There's that, at least," she muttered rather bitterly. "The game has changed, Severus. I'll have to adjust my strategy, but perhaps I could work this to my advantage."  
  
"In what way?" Snape demanded, "The Dark Lord is obviously  _furious_  with you."  
  
"Exactly," Wraith hissed. "Now think about just  _why_  he's furious, Severus."  
  
"…You took a lover," Snape said slowly.  
  
"And gave my innocence to someone else when the Dark Lord so wanted it for himself," Wraith said. "I've denied him of it––and no one has denied the Dark Lord anything."  
  
"And how exactly can you work that into your favor?"  
  
"He still wants me," Wraith said darkly, "and if all goes well, I will use his frustration against him. He never thinks clearly when anger's taken a hold of him. That gives me an advantage, provided I don't push him too far…"   
  
  
  
  
The next night, Wraith left the sanctuary of her room and when she stepped into the drawing room, there was no sign that anyone could see of the Dark Lord's punishment. She wore a dress of the deepest red, edged in black, her eyes were shadows and her lips painted to match the dress.   
  
In the doorway of the drawing room, she cast her eyes over those gathered there. Rowle was sitting with Dolohov in one corner and Wraith was pleased to see that Harper was settled at one of the windows, an open book in his hand.   
  
The Dark Lord was there as well. He sat in his chair by the fire, but had turned it so that it faced the fireplace, keeping his back to the room. Wraith knew that he had sensed her presence, but he gave no indication of it.   
  
Wraith smirked as she stepped into the room and slowly crossed to him. She placed one hand on the back of his chair and leaned around.   
  
"Still not sorry, my Lord," she whispered tauntingly in his ear.   
  
He stiffened just slightly, Wraith saw it in the way his hand clenched into a fist upon the armrest. Her smile widened and she placed a kiss just below his ear. Voldemort jerked his head away with a warning hiss, but Wraith simply continued to smile as she straightened.   
  
She turned on her heel and joined Harper at his place at the window. She felt the Dark Lord's anger radiating from where he sat, but it seemed that her provocation was not enough for him to act upon that anger.   
  
Wraith spared a glance at the back of his chair and granted it that little knife-edge smirk that so matched that of the Dark Lord's.


	47. The Better A Blade

_"All that is gold does not glitter  
Not all those who wander are lost   
The old who are strong do not whither  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost"_  
  
  
  
  
Harper saw that sharp smile on Wraith's face and had to smile himself, though she didn't see it. "My Lady?" he said gently, turning her attention to him, "Are you alright?" he asked her.   
  
Wraith blinked, seeing the real concern in his eyes. Then it occurred to her that she had not placed a silencing charm on her room the night before. The entire Manor must have heard her screaming… "I'm fine," she told him softly. She touched her hand to his, smiling at him. "What are you reading?" she asked, changing the subject.   
  
" _The Merchant of Venice_ ," he replied, showing her the book, "It's one I hadn't read before."   
  
"Hm, I haven't read that one either," Wraith said, tilting her head to one side.   
  
"Would you like to borrow it after I've finished, my Lady?" Harper asked.   
  
"I'd like that, thank you," she said, her smile brightening. "Read me a line," she told him.   
  
A quick grin flickered across Harper's face and he looked down to the page he was on. "' _Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time_ '."   
  
Wraith laughed, making heads turn towards her and Harper. "How true," she said, smiling brightly. "I suppose we are among the strangest, you and I."   
  
"We've been called worse, I'm sure, my Lady," Harper replied, falling into her teasing frame of mind. But then he noticed the faint strain around Wraith's eyes as she glanced away from him. "My Lady?" he whispered, barely audible, forcibly keeping his smile on his face so as not to draw attention to his worry.   
  
"Excuse me, Harper," she said gently, "I need some air," she told him, standing.   
  
Harper rose to his feet as well, taking her hand and kissing it. Wraith smiled at him once more, the expression gentle and almost sweet. She touched her hand to his cheek as he sat down again and then she quickly left the room.   
  
She moved swiftly across the entrance hall towards the doors, her movements stiff with strain. As soon as she had reached the doors and stepped outside, she wrapped an arm over stomach and covered her mouth with her other hand. A violent coughing fit came over her, all the more vicious because she had held it in until she was alone. It took several minutes for it to pass.   
  
When Wraith was able to breathe again, she leaned back against the door with her eyes tightly closed, her head pounding.   
  
"You wear your mask well."   
  
Wraith's eyes snapped open to see the Dark Lord standing at the bottom of the front steps. She smirked just slightly at him. "Fooled you for a moment, though, didn't I?" she asked him, her voice rough.   
  
"That you did," Voldemort conceded. "I almost believed that my punishment to you had had no effect."   
  
"In a way, my Lord, it didn't," she said.   
  
"Yes, I know," Voldemort said. He walked up the steps to her, his red eyes gleaming in the dark.   
  
"Were you considering punishing me again, my Lord?" Wraith asked.   
  
"No," Voldemort said, a trace of bitterness in his voice, "If yesterday did not make you regret, then I suspect nothing will." He considered her in silence for a moment. "When you are well again, my Wraith, I need you to pay a visit to Gringotts, check in on our goblin friend, Garnott."   
  
"My reserves are in fairly good shape," Wraith said lightly, "I might be able to go as soon as tomorrow, if it would please you, my Lord."   
  
"It would," he said, but he sounded suspicious of her confidence. "…What changed you, Wraith? I assumed, at first, that it was your lover, but you must have changed before then to have even taken said lover."   
  
Wraith paused, looking up at him. "Simply put, my Lord, I have learned to live without you," she told him. "I do not need you anymore, not as I did. Your leaving broke something between us and the place where it was has healed over. Pride demands that I not reopen it."   
  
"Your pride is a great and terrible thing," Voldemort said.   
  
"Yet it is nothing compared to yours, my Lord," Wraith replied wryly. Then she sobered, "…I will not be sorry for having a life beyond you, my Lord. I am the only one of your followers that you exercise that much control over! It makes no difference to you whether Rowle or Yaxley have a lover and you do not care who Draco befriends. It doesn't matter to you what they do when they are not serving you, provided that it doesn't interfere with their duties. Why must it matter with me?"   
  
"You must know by now that you are singular," Voldemort snapped at her. "There is a great deal riding on your future, my Wraith, and I'll allow nothing to interfere with my plans."   
  
"I despise being chained and yet you seem to revel in chaining me," Wraith said, a touch of her anger from the previous night showing through in her words.   
  
"Do not test me again, Wraith," Voldemort warned her, his temper rising to match hers.   
  
"I can do nothing else with this between us," Wraith retorted sharply. "I am, in honesty, glad that you're angry, my Lord. That was, after all, the point. But I would ask that you not waste my resources in punishing me for something that cannot be undone. Let me serve you, fully and faithfully."   
  
The cold and logical part of the Dark Lord heard the truth in her words, but resented them all the same. Wraith was quiet, looking up at him with calm eyes, waiting for him to speak.   
  
"Fine," he said at last, his voice low, "You will go to Gringotts tomorrow night."   
  
"As you wish, my Lord."   
  
"But that the path we abandoned before is now closed between us. Do you understand?"   
  
A wicked gleam came to her eyes and she smiled slowly. "For now, my Lord," Wraith replied, with that knife-edged little smile. "I do not give up so easily," she told him, raising a delicate brow, "and I like finishing what I start."   
  
Voldemort scowled at her. "Inside," he snapped.   
  
Wraith's smile widened slightly as she turned and slipped into the Manor, with Voldemort following behind.     
  
  
  
  
The bright lights of Gringotts dimmed to almost nothing as the bank closed for the night. Garnott gathered up the coins he had been counting into a small velvet bag and hopped down from his stool. He nodded to his fellow goblins as he passed through the small door behind the counter and disappeared.   
  
Garnott walked through the low-ceilinged hall until he reached his back office. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. The light of the room was low and warm, the corners piled with stacks of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Garnott crossed to one such pile and added the coins from the velvet bag.   
  
It wasn't until he had sat at his desk that he realized that he wasn't alone in the office. His head snapped up to find her sitting in the low chair across the room from him. He knew exactly who she was, even though when he had first encountered her she had worn a mask.   
  
"Evening, Garnott," she said, her pale eyes almost glowing in the dim light.   
  
For a long and silent moment, the goblin simply looked at her. It was as if he were judging her before he would speak to her. He wondered at why he had not seen her before, but the dress she wore was the color of burnished gold, edged with black. She almost seemed to match the room itself.   
  
"What do you want?" he asked at last.   
  
"The Dark Lord asked that I 'check in on you'," she replied dryly. Garnott bristled, but Wraith held up a slim hand to make him wait. "The Dark Lord sent me, but I do trust your word, Garnott," she told him, "I know you'll keep it." Her eyes went sharp. "In truth, I wished to speak to you anyway. This was a convenient excuse."   
  
"And what do we have to speak of?" the goblin demanded.   
  
Wraith smiled slightly at him. "What do you want?" she asked him, "The goblins of Gringotts as a whole, I mean."   
  
Again, Garnott was silent, his eyes boring into hers across the room. Long minutes passed between them before the goblin deigned to speak. "…To be left alone," he said, finally.   
  
Wraith's smile became a sharp smirk and she nodded, unsurprised. "I don't know if I'll be able to manage that, but perhaps I can lighten the lean the Death Eaters are placing upon your bank."   
  
"…Why?" Garnott asked, his voice low.   
  
"Because we waste precious time and resources in trying to control you," Wraith said, her own voice slightly sharp. "And that control will never be won, not completely. You are far too prideful and stubborn, Master Goblin," she told him, "…and we have that in common."   
  
"And what will you suggest to them, the wizards?" Garnott asked, suspicious.   
  
"Cooperation," Wraith said wryly, "Things would run a great deal smoother if we come to even ground. Wouldn't you agree?" she asked, raising a brow.   
  
"Why would they listen to you?"   
  
Now Wraith truly smiled, her teeth flashing momentarily against her darkly painted lips. "I am above and beyond my fellow Death Eaters, Garnott," she reminded him, "Surely, you saw that the first time we met?"   
  
"What of the Dark Lord?"   
  
"He has a tendency to listen to me when I make sense," she replied, "and  _this_  makes sense. Is there a possibility for an accord between us, Garnott?"   
  
She waited as he thought, not rushing him in the slightest. At last, the goblin nodded slowly. "I see a possibility," he conceded.   
  
"That you consider it is all that I ask," Wraith told him, standing. "Thank you for your time."   
  
"A moment, if you please," Garnott said, stopping her.   
  
Wraith tilted her head to one side, considering him.   
  
"I notice that you wear a blade," the goblin said, gesturing to the dagger, "It is wizard-forged, is it not?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith said slowly.   
  
Without a word, Garnott stood up from his desk and crossed to a cabinet of dark wood. He took a small key from his pocket and unlocked it. From within the cabinet he took something and crossed to where Wraith stood. Wraith gently took what he offered her in silence.   
  
It was a dagger. It was beautiful. The hilt was a dark sapphire blue, wrapped with a line of dark gold. The metal of the blade made the dagger that Bellatrix had conjured look like pot-metal.   
  
"This is exquisite," Wraith murmured, turning the blade over her hand. She looked to Garnott, "Is this of your making?" she asked him. The goblin nodded solemnly. "How much do you ask for it?" Wraith wanted to know.   
  
"Consider it an investment," the goblin replied slowly.   
  
But Wraith shook her head, "I cannot take such a work of art without payment. How much would you accept?"   
  
The goblin considered her again, surprised. "…Ten Galleons," he said, naming a very low price, but still enough to quench Wraith's pride.   
  
Wraith passed her hand over the surface of Garnott's desk and a small pile of gold appeared there. "I thank you for this, Garnott," she told him. Remembering what she had read of goblin ways, she added softly, "I will wear this with pride––and see it returned to you upon my death."   
  
Again, the goblin seemed surprised by her, but he bowed his head deeply to her. Wraith bowed hers in return and was gone.    
  
  
  
  
Voldemort looked up when he felt her presence in the doorway of his tower. His eyes passed over the burnished gold of her dress before they met her gaze. "Wraith."   
  
"My Lord," she said, dipping into a curtsy, "I assumed that you would want a report."   
  
"You are correct," he said, gesturing for her to enter. "How did you find Garnott?" he asked her as she stood before the desk, "Do you suspect him of whispering treachery again?"   
  
"No, my Lord," Wraith said firmly, "Garnott will keep his word to me and thus to you."   
  
"You are certain?"   
  
"He respects me, my Lord," she told him, a touch of condescendence in her voice. "He won't turn against me unless I lose that respect. I suspect that the same would hold true of the rest of the goblins as well."   
  
"Do you?"   
  
"As I've said before, my Lord, fear is not enough," Wraith reminded, "Not in the long run. If I may suggest an alternative?"   
  
Voldemort considered her a moment and then nodded, curious.   
  
"We would do better to make allies of the goblins, rather than forcing them to be slaves," Wraith told him bluntly, "If we continue as we have with Gringotts, the goblins  _will_  rise against you and cause all manner of trouble for you. Better to find an accord now, before that happens."   
  
"Do you honestly expect them to yield to an accord?" Voldemort asked her, sneering.   
  
"Have you ever  _asked_  them?" she replied dryly. "I mentioned such a thing to Garnott and he is willing to consider it. This would have to be done carefully, my Lord, but I believe it could work."   
  
"You've a sharp mind, pet," Voldemort said, smiling slightly as he considered what she had suggested. If he had noticed the way she bristled slightly at the nickname, he did not react to it. "I will think on this, but I see what you are saying."   
  
"Thank you, my Lord," Wraith said, forcing herself to hold her temper down. "If that is all?" she asked.   
  
"That is all," he told her. She started to turn away, but something then caught the Dark Lord's eye. "Wait," he said.   
  
Wraith sighed and turned back, raising an eyebrow.   
  
Voldemort pointed to her belt. "That," he said, "is  _not_  the dagger you were wearing earlier tonight."   
  
Wraith smiled slowly and unclipped the sheath from her belt, placing it upon the desk. Voldemort took the blade by the hilt and pulled it free of the sheath. His eyes widened slightly when he saw the metal was goblin-forged.   
  
"How did you come to have this?"   
  
"It was something of a bribe from Garnott," Wraith admitted, her tone amused. "He sold it to me for a  _very_  low price. Beautiful, isn't it?"   
  
"It is," Voldemort replied, sheathing the blade once more and offering it back to her. "Still full of surprises, aren't you, my Wraith?"   
  
"You've no idea," Wraith told him dryly.


	48. Spider Spinning

_"The men in the room suddenly realized that they didn't want to know her better. She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close."_  
  
  
  
  
It was little more than three weeks later that Harper found himself cornered by Yaxley just outside the door to the dungeon. The older man looked very agitated and his eyes kept darting from side to side as he spoke in hushed tones to the boy.   
  
"Is the Wraith here?" he demanded of Harper.   
  
"I believe so," Harper said evenly, his voice giving nothing away.   
  
"I must speak with her, immediately," Yaxley said haughtily, "Find her, deliver the message." When Harper raised a single brow and the corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk, Yaxley went red in the face and sputtered out, "If you would––please."   
  
"Certainly," Harper said jovially, patting the slightly bewildered man on the shoulder, "You just had to ask. I think she's up in her tower. I'll run up and tell her that you need to talk to her. Be right back."   
  
He was kind enough to wait until he had reached the top of the staircase before he started laughing. Harper walked with no real hurry in his steps, judging that a wait might do Yaxley a little good, and besides that, he only had the vaguest clue as to where he was going. He had never ventured to Wraith's tower before.   
  
When he found the twisting staircase and climbed to the top, he knew he had reached the right place. He could hear the music box playing inside the room and Wraith's soft voice singing along with it. He cleared his throat and knocked on the door. The singing cut off at once and a moment later, the door was pulled open.   
  
Wraith stood in the doorway, her dress strapless, but a simple black and though her eyes were shadowed, her lips were bare of color. She blinked at him, and then smiled. "Harper," she said, "You've an air of the hobgoblin around you. What have you been up to, my puckish friend?"   
  
Harper grinned at her, " _Thou speak'st aright; I am that merry wanderer of the night_ ," he recited with around that twisted grin, "…Yaxley needs a word with you," he told her, still smiling.   
  
Wraith's smile widened as an impish gleam came to her eye. "And he sent you in his stead?" she asked dryly.   
  
"It means that people have finally figured out what I am to you, my Lady," Harper told her, "I think Yaxley figured that I'd be more welcome here than he."   
  
"Hm," Wraith smirked, her eyes shadowed with a secret that Harper could not read.   
  
In the short quiet that passed between them, he glanced past her into the room. "Nice place," he commented. Wraith frowned at him and he shrugged, "Never been up here," he reminded her.   
  
"Oh," Wraith said, "I'd forgotten. Here, come in," she added, taking his hand and pulling him in. His eyes immediately fell on the bookcase against the wall near the bed. Wraith saw at once where his gaze had gone and laughed. She pushed him gently towards the shelves, "Go ahead," she told him, "Why don't you wait here for me? I doubt this will take long. I already know what Yaxley wants to speak to me about."   
  
"As you like, my Lady," Harper said, distracted by the many unfamiliar titles he'd already spotted. Wraith smiled at him and shook her head, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her.   
  
She walked down to the drawing room, taking her time with it, and found Yaxley pacing alone within. The man's head snapped up as she stepped into the doorway.   
  
"Yaxley," she said in greeting as she entered the room, "Harper said that you wished to speak to me."   
  
"Yes," Yaxley said. He cleared his throat, taking a moment to find the words. "…The Ministry is putting out the news that Thicknesse is retiring next month," he said at last, "and that I have been appointed his successor."   
  
"I see," Wraith said, unsurprised, "You must be pleased."   
  
Yaxley stared at her as if she were a puzzle. "…Why me?" he asked her, almost brusquely. "You hate me, so why did you suggest to the Dark Lord that I become Minster of Magic?"   
  
Wraith raised a delicate brow, a little insulted by his tone.   
  
The man flushed at her pointed look and quickly bowed his head. "Forgive me––my Lady."   
  
As usual, the honorific seemed to stick in his craw, but Wraith gave him points for saying it anyway. "I hardly hate you Yaxley," she told him, "I simple find you a pompous ass." Yaxley winced at the insult, but he dared not interrupt her. "You were the most logical choice," Wraith continued, "That's all there is to it. I trust you are not unhappy with the promotion?"   
  
"No––my Lady––of course not," Yaxley said. "It is as you said; better to have a loyal man in power rather than a puppet."   
  
 _But we are simply replacing one puppet with another. You're just another kind of puppet,_  Wraith thought objectively. "If that is all?" she asked archly.   
  
Yaxley hesitantly bowed to her. "My Lady."   
  
"Yaxley," Wraith replied with a short bow of her head. She turned on her heel and disappeared into the hall.      
  
  
  
  
When Wraith returned to her rooms, Harper was still pouring over the bookshelves. At first, she didn't know if he had realized she had returned, but then he spoke quite clearly to her, "Tennyson; Frost; Whitman; Shakespeare; Yeats––Where did you  _get_  all of these?"   
  
Wraith smirked as she crossed over to join him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked over the books fondly. "It's a secret," she whispered.   
  
Harper chuckled, reaching up to take one of the Tennyson books down. "All the best things are," he said with an impish grin.   
  
Together they sat on the short couch Wraith had placed near the center of the circular tower room.   
  
"How old are you now, Harper?" Wraith asked him, realizing that she didn't remember.   
  
"Turned nineteen in June," Harper said, flipping through the pages of the book.   
  
Hearing it, Wraith belated remembered that she herself had turned twenty in August. It was the first birthday to pass that the Dark Lord had not favored her with some trinket. Her eyes narrowed, though she smiled sharply as she considered the many reason for that.   
  
Harper looked up from the book to see her pensive expression. "My Lady?" he said softly.   
  
Wraith turned her eyes back to him and smiled gently. "Vassal or no, Harper, you are my friend as well. You  _could_  call me by my name," she chided.   
  
Harper grinned, "I  _could_ , and I appreciate that, but I like playing the old game. My Lady––Wraith––I'm glad to be your vassal."   
  
Wraith's smile widened and she touched her hand to his cheek in a fond gesture. "And I'm glad to have you," she told him. "You make things a great deal more fun, you know."   
  
"I try," Harper replied cordially.   
  
  
  
  
The weeks crawled by, rather uneventful, as September bled into October. The weather turned colder, though rain only came on occasion. The Dark Lord continued to keep his distance from his Wraith. Each time that he did see her, he could see that she still watched him with patient eyes, but now her eyes held a challenge as well. Even with that challenge, in view of her fellow Death Eaters, she was perfectly obedient.   
  
When the day came that Pius Thicknesse 'retired' from his place as Minster of Magic, to be replaced by Yaxley, Voldemort noted with interest how Yaxley showed the Lady Wraith a new and cautious respect, instead of only fear. Wraith had been quite correct when it came to Thicknesse; the man's mind was broken. He was shut in the dungeons below the Manor with the rest of the prisoners, to prevent him from being seen.   
  
Each night, Wraith sat alone or with Harper in the drawing room, quite clearly making herself available to those who wanted to speak with her, either to garner favor with her or make a request of the Dark Lord's Lady Death.   
  
It wasn't until mid-October that Rabastan Lestrange sought her out. It was early evening, and Wraith was sitting beside the window, talking with Harper as she so often did. Occasionally, the others in the room would hear one or the other laugh in the midst of their conversation. The Dark Lord sat before the fire, the back of his chair faced towards the room. No one approached him, no one dared. Wraith took note of when Rabastan entered the room, though she gave no sign of it.   
  
With a dramatic and put-upon sigh, Harper stretched. "I am parched," he claimed, "My Lady, may I fetch you something to drink in a veiled attempt to do the same for myself?"   
  
Wraith laughed and gestured him away. Harper gave her a quick grin before he stood and started away. Wraith watched with interest as Rabastan stopped the boy before he reached the door. He spoke in low tones to Harper and she was not able to hear what they were saying. But then Harper threw back his head and laughed. He shook his head at Rabastan and seemed to gesture towards Wraith before he left the room.   
  
Wraith turned her head away, gazing out the window, but her attention remained with Rabastan and she wondered just what the man was up to. He seemed to hesitate, but a moment later she heard him approached her. "My Lady?"   
  
"Yes, Rabastan?" she replied, not looking up.   
  
"I wondered…could I speak with you?"   
  
Wraith glanced up at him and then motioned for him to sit in the chair Harper had abandoned. Rabastan hesitantly took the chair and cleared his throat. Wraith regarded him with cool eyes, waiting for him to speak.   
  
Finally, Rabastan reached into his robes and drew out a small box that seemed rather familiar to Wraith. He held it out slightly. "My Lady, you would not accept this as a bribe––but I wondered if you would accept it simply as…as a gift."   
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Wraith saw the Dark Lord's fist clench on the arm of his chair and watched as he deliberately relaxed it. Between that and Rabastan's obvious anxiety, she found herself fighting the urge to laugh.   
  
Wraith slowly reached out to take the box from his hands. Opening it, she immediately recognized the golden bracelet that rested within. With a soft sigh, Wraith looked back up to Rabastan and saw the way he seemed to hold his breath. "…If you insist," she said at last.    
  
Without taking her eyes from his, Wraith took the bracelet from the box and held it out to him, offering her right hand as well. Rabastan blinked and then smiled just slightly. He took the bracelet and cautiously took hold of her hand. Wraith felt the tension in his light grip and smiled in amusement. Rabastan held her hand as if it were made of fragile glass––or perhaps the thought had crossed his mind that Wraith often killed with a touch of that same hand. He slipped the bracelet onto her wrist with only a moment's fumbling and he smiled in what could have only been relief. He held her hand in his a moment longer.   
  
"The gold suits you, my Lady," he told her, his voice low.   
  
Wraith's own smile widened slightly and took on a wicked edge. "Thank you, Rabastan," she said softly, "It is a lovely gift."   
  
"A treasure, my Lady," Rabastan murmured, "to suit another treasure."   
  
Wraith nearly lost the thin grip she had on herself and almost broke into helpless laughter. But she managed to hold it back and simply continued to smile. "What a charming tongue you have, Rabastan," she said.   
  
Rabastan returned her smile, thrilled that she was responding to his cautious flirtations. But he did not want to press his luck, so he very lightly kissed the back of her hand and stood. "My Lady," he said, bowing deeply to her.   
  
"Rabastan," she replied, nodding to him.   
  
With one last, terribly relieved smile, Rabastan left her to sit with Rowle at the other side of the room.   
  
Wraith smiled down at the bracelet on her wrist, touching it gently with her other hand. She felt the Dark Lord's eyes on her and she lifted her head to look over at him.   
  
Voldemort saw the amusement in her eyes where Rabastan had missed it. There was the slightest scowl on his face when their eyes met. Wraith smirked to see it.  _Ha. Let this serve as a reminder, my Lord. If you don't take what I offer, then someone else will._    
  
The Dark Lord turned away from her again and Wraith felt as though she had won another little battle with him. He claimed that he didn't want her anymore––How could he complain then if someone expressed an interest in her? He had trapped himself and Wraith reveled in his frustration.   
  
While she had been distracted by the Dark Lord, Harper had returned to his seat beside her. "My Lady?" he said, offering her the goblet of wine he'd brought for her. He held his own in his free hand.   
  
Wraith turned and took the wine, but she did not drink it. Looking at Harper, she saw that he too was fighting laughter. "Let's take a walk," she suggested softly, an edge of laughter breaking through in her voice. Harper nodded in agreement, hiding his own smile behind his hand.   
  
They stood and crossed the room to the door, Harper a respectful step behind his Lady. They managed to reach the fronts doors before they broke into soft and helpless laughter. Wraith put a finger to her smiling lips and they hurried out of the Manor and onto the moonlit grounds.   
  
Once they were a distance away from the Manor, Wraith finally let herself laugh aloud and Harper joined her in the revelry.   
  
"Oh, great good gods," Wraith breathed after she had gotten control of herself again, "How much of that did you hear?"   
  
"Most of it, I think," Harper said, still chuckling. "But heavy-handed, wasn't he?"   
  
"Oh, just a little," Wraith said, giggling, "He didn't do too badly, really."   
  
"Let me see," Harper said and Wraith gave him her hand so that he could take a closer look at the bracelet. Harper whistled in appreciation. "Master Lestrange has expensive taste," he said, his brow lifting. "He's right, though, the gold does suit you. It gives you a warmth that silver wouldn't. Good of him to see that. Good of the Dark Lord too," he added, nodding to the medallion Wraith wore at her breast.   
  
Wraith smirked, holding the bracelet up for her own eyes to see. "So, what did Rabastan say to you that made you laugh?" she asked.   
  
"He asked if I was staking a claim on you," Harper replied, laughing at the thought again.   
  
"Oh, for goodness sake," Wraith said, rolling her eyes.   
  
"My thought exactly, my Lady," Harper said. They came around the Manor to where the Rose Maze lay and settled onto one of the stone benches outside of it to sit and drink their wine. "So, I sent him along to you. I hope you don't mind."   
  
"Not at all, that was fun," Wraith told him.   
  
"He wants to marry you," Harper said slowly, "Does that want have anything to do with him also wanting to outshine his elder brother?"   
  
"I think it has a great deal to do with that," Wraith said dryly.   
  
"Are you considering accepting his proposal someday?" Harper asked her.   
  
Wraith was silent a moment. "I don't know," she said honestly. "The thought doesn't exactly appeal to me; Rabastan doesn't know a damn thing about me. It would make Bellatrix my sister-in-law as well."   
  
"But?"   
  
"But," Wraith conceded, "It would also make Rabian my nephew. I wouldn't mind that," she added softly. She frowned slightly as another thought occurred to her. "Antony," she said, "You and Severus are both my friends––and you both admit that you've no desire for me to be married off to you. I know Severus's reasons, but what are yours?"   
  
"Honestly, my Lady?" Harper said hesitantly.   
  
"You can always be honest with me, Antony," Wraith assured him.   
  
"Well…Most people know by now that the reason the Dark Lord wants you to wed someday is so that you'll bear children of your bloodline, children to share your power…I don't think I could father children that would only be used as tools of his."   
  
"That's a very good reason," Wraith said softly, smiling at him.   
  
There was another reason as well, Wraith could tell. But her fondness for Harper kept her from prying. If he wanted to share it with her later, then he would.   
  
She stood up from the bench. "We'd best head back inside," she said, "before we start more rumors."   
  
"But it's so much  _fun_  to set the tongues wagging," Harper argued brightly.   
  
Wraith gave him a sharp, but amused look and they started back to the Manor.


	49. To Play The Game

_"Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith bid Harper goodnight after that, their paths diverging when they came to the drawing room doors. Harper kissed her hand and slipped back into the room, while she took the path up the staircase towards her tower.   
  
When she reached the top of the stairs, she felt the link between her and the Dark Lord close off suddenly. She smirked slightly, not allowing her steps to falter as she walked down the empty hall.   
  
As she had half-expected, she felt his hand circle her wrist in a tight grip and suddenly she was thrown back against the wall. Voldemort loomed over her, pressing her wrist against the wall beside her head. It did not miss Wraith's notice that it was the wrist on which she was wearing Rabastan's bracelet.   
  
"Something troubling you, my Lord?" she asked archly, smiling sharply at him.   
  
"Don't," Voldemort hissed.   
  
Wraith's only reply was to look up at him with wide and deceptively innocent eyes.   
  
Voldemort scowled at her. "I don't like this game that you are playing,  _pet_ , and I like even less that you seek to play me as a pawn in it."   
  
"You wouldn't be a pawn if you were playing the game too, my Lord," Wraith told him, her voice a dark whisper of sound.   
  
Voldemort's grip on her wrist tightened painfully. But Wraith allowed nothing but cool amusement show on her face. Again, her eyes flashed with the challenge he had seen before.    
  
"Do you have issue with Rabastan's courting of me?" she asked him, her eyes sliding over to the bracelet on the wrist that Voldemort still held.   
  
"I question his reasons," the Dark Lord said, "How does he measure in your game, Wraith?"   
  
"He doesn't," she replied, "Or, at least, he did not before tonight. My Lord, you've made it clear that you've loosened your claim on me these past weeks and the others have come to see that. Some, like Rabastan, will seek to make their own claim."   
  
"How have I made this clear?" Voldemort demanded, "I've said nothing on the subject."   
  
"Your actions made it clear. Or rather, your lack of actions," Wraith told him softly.   
  
A flash of surprise went through the Dark Lord's eyes before he could hide it. "Explain," he said after a moment.   
  
"You stopped touching me," Wraith said, "When you'd speak to me, you had a habit of touching my hair, my cheek," she murmured, lifting her hand to brush across Voldemort's, "But ever since… Over these past weeks––you stopped. And they've noticed."   
  
Very slowly, the Dark Lord released her arm and stepped back from her, his eyes narrowed pensively. Wraith resisted the urge to rub her sore wrist and instead regarded her Lord with distant eyes.   
  
"…Rabastan may only be the first of many, my Lord," she told him plainly. "Thanks to Gavin's big mouth, most of your followers know that you intend to marry me off someday and have my bloodline and the power that comes with it continue–– And though their fear is prevalent, there are some, I think, that will be unable to resist the possibility of such an alliance." She took a single step towards him as she continued, "Many of your Death Eaters are drawn so to power––that is why so many chose to follow you in the first place, drawn by  _your_  great power. And now there is me––A power they can hold." Her voice was soft and rich, and full of dark promise.   
  
Voldemort considered her in silence for a long moment, reaching out to touch a hand beneath her chin. Her gaze never wavered from his as he pondered her. Finally, he gestured down the hall and they began to walk, side by side in continued silence. Wraith felt something akin to the familiarity they had possessed before, but it was cautious, more subdued than it had been before her time at Hogwarts.   
  
"Rabastan is a likely choice," Wraith commented as they neared the stairs to her tower, "His family is old and pure, his loyalty commendable."   
  
"Excellent points," Voldemort said, coming to a stop at the foot of her stairs, "But what of his patience? You are useful to me now––I've no desire to retire you soon."   
  
"That is the question," Wraith admitted. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she smiled sharply. Tilting her head to one side, she looked to the Dark Lord and slowly began to climb the stairs backwards, keeping her eyes on him. "We could, my Lord,  _play_  his patience against his desire for power," she said, her voice low.   
  
Voldemort smiled just slightly, liking the idea of it. He began to follow her up the steps just until they were out of sight of the hall. "Go on," he told her.   
  
"Rabastan is already quite the loyal Death Eater," Wraith said, "But if you were to dangle such a promise of power before him, he could become quite the worthy pawn. Who knows what he would be willing to do…for the chance to finally outshine his elder brother?"   
  
Voldemort's smile widened slightly as he looked up at her. "An interesting proposal," he said, "It  _would_  be interesting to see what could be gained from it." His eyes sharpened suddenly. "And what are your intentions in the meantime, my Wraith?" he demanded of her, "Do you intend to seek another's bed before I have you married?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith replied serenely, raising a single brow. She saw the question in her Lord's eyes and held up a hand to stop him from speaking it. "Don't bother to badger me with questions of whom, my Lord. You are perfectly aware of what I seek." Once again, she tilted her head to the side and gifted him that sharp little smile. "I've set a challenge. I simply wait for it to be met."   
  
Voldemort scowled at her. "It will not be met by me," he told her firmly.   
  
"Uh-huh," Wraith said blandly.   
  
The Dark Lord should have taken her placid tone as the warning that it was. Before he could blink, Wraith had twisted her leg around him, throwing him off balance so that his back hit the stone wall. Wraith moved down, though she kept her head above his, and placed her hand flat against the wall beside his head. Her mouth hovered over his, her lips slightly parted. She was close enough that Voldemort could feel the strange cool heat emanating from her, could all but taste the sweetness of her breath.   
  
"…Someone's lying to himself," Wraith whispered cruelly.   
  
Fury flashed through the Dark Lord's eyes as his Wraith stepped away from him again. "Do you think I've no self-control?" he asked her with a sneer.   
  
Wraith smirked in reply to his sneer. "Your self-control is almost boundless, my Lord," she said mildly, "…That's what makes the challenge so _fun_."   
  
Together, their heads turned at the sound of footsteps in the hall below and a few soft voices conversing. Wraith, taking advantage of the distraction, turned on the stair, heading up to her tower. "Goodnight, my Lord," she said to Voldemort over her shoulder.   
  
The Dark Lord stood there on the stairs a moment longer, waiting for his temper to cool. Still, he was scowling when he descended the staircase.          
  
  
  
  
A few nights later, Snape arrived at the Manor, taking a straight path up to Wraith's tower. He was surprised when he saw her door wide open. When he stepped into the doorway, he heard her laughter, bright and warm, and saw her sitting with Harper on the short couch in the center of the room.   
  
It was Harper who actually saw him first. The young man grinned foolishly, his surprise clear in his nearly guileless eyes. "Professor Snape!"   
  
Wraith's head snapped around, her eyes turned to him and though her smile remained small and polite, her eyes shone to see him. She stood, crossing the room towards him. "Severus," she said, his name almost a sigh of relief on her lips.   
  
"Good evening, Wraith," Snape replied, "I wondered if I might have a word with you."   
  
"Of course,' she said. She glanced at Harper, "I'm sorry, Antony, but could you give us a moment?"   
  
"Certainly, my Lady," Harper said, standing up. He gave her a short bow, the sincerity of the gesture lessened by his broad wink.   
  
An amused smile flitted across Wraith's lips. "I'll be downstairs in a little while. Wait for me there?"   
  
"Your wish is my command," Harper told her grandly. He nodded to Snape as he passed to the door. "Good to see you again, Professor," he said, surprising Snape a great deal.   
  
As the door closed behind Harper, Wraith gave Snape an arched look. "You know, I really can't picture you as a teacher," she told him, a smile in her voice.   
  
"Neither can I," Snape replied dryly.   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes, smiling slightly. With no warning, she suddenly stepped forward and wrapped her arms loosely around him. Snape stiffened slightly, but then he unbent enough to put an arm around her in return.   
  
"I miss you," Wraith told him as she let him go. "I miss Hogwarts," she added softly, walking over to one of the dark windows.   
  
Snape watched her with close eyes. "Yet you seem more at ease here now," he said, his voice low.   
  
"But this isn't home," Wraith said, her tone a little sharp. "Home is Hogwarts––with you and Edwin." Her eyes darkened, "This is only a way-station for me: The means to an end."   
  
Snape crossed to join her at the window. It had touched him, for her to consider him home. Wraith lifted her eyes to his and he saw the shadow of her smile for a moment. His eyes fell upon the ornate dagger at her waist and his brow rose. Wraith saw where his gaze had fallen and she grinned wickedly. She unsheathed the dagger and passed it to him.  
  
"Where did you get  _this_?" he asked her, examining the goblin-forged blade.   
  
"The goblin Garnott," Wraith replied, her smile sharp and pleased, "It was a bribe."   
  
"He  _gave_  it to you?"   
  
"I paid gold for it," Wraith corrected, "But only a tenth of what the blade it worth––and only because I insisted on it."   
  
"And what was the bribe supposed to gain him?" Snape asked, his calculated mind whirling.   
  
"I told him that I would seek to convince the Dark Lord that an alliance with the goblins would serve better than the hostile take-over they've been attempting."   
  
"And have you taken this suggestion to the Dark Lord?"   
  
"I have," Wraith said, nodding, "and he is seriously considering it."   
  
"And the goblins would truly agree to an alliance with him?"   
  
"Not quite," Wraith said darkly. "The goblins will not recognize any Wizarding authority. They will not pledge their allegiance to the Dark Lord. They'll pledge to  _me_."   
  
In that moment, Snape saw her as something different and dangerous; the creature that she had shown the world she could be: A creature of power to match that of Lord Voldemort, just as dark as he and quite capable of being just as ruthless.   
  
Slowly, he handed the blade back to her. "I'm impressed," he told her wryly.   
  
Wraith smirked as she sheathed the dagger again at her belt. "I  _will_  have the goblins as my allies," she said simply, "and since the Dark Lord believes that I am still truly his, then that will be enough for him to think that the goblins are his as well. And I will have another piece for my chess board."   
  
"You play a dangerous game, child," Snape said, "but you play it well."   
  
"Thank you," Wraith said, smiling at him.   
  
They walked back over to the couch and though Snape took a seat there, Wraith paced along the back of it. "Oh," she said, pausing and holding her hand over the couch to him, "Another thing you've not seen."   
  
Snape frowned at the golden bracelet on her wrist, recognizing its value and inhaling sharply. "Good gods," he said dryly, "where did that come from?"   
  
"Rabastan Lestrange is courting me," Wraith told him with another sharp smile. "You've likely heard the rumor of the Dark Lord's turning away from me. Rabastan is the first, though it's unlikely that he'll be the last, to seek to take advantage of it."   
  
"Oh, I've heard," Snape said with a slight sneer, "I've had to answer a number of uncomfortable questions as to whether or not  _I_  was the lover you took."   
  
Wraith laughed with dark humor. "Oh, my apologies, Severus, but I'd half-expected something of the sort. Harper has faced the same questions, actually. It makes a little sense, after all. You're both allies of mine, my friends."   
  
"So, the Dark Lord has turned away from you, then?" Snape asked.   
  
"For now," Wraith replied dryly, "but  _that_  particular game is far from over, Severus. I've set hooks in him where no one else ever has."   
  
Snape looked up at her, his face drawn in serious lines. "…Why?" he asked her plainly.   
  
"Power," she retorted. "I've told you once before. I intend to make myself  _precisely_  what the Dark Lord feared I would become. I will be his weakness."   
  
"I believe you," Snape said softly, his black eyes glittering with his own dark humor.   
  
Wraith smiled slowly.


	50. Chains

_"He was alone in the darkness once more, but the darkness became brighter and brighter until it was burning like the sun."_  
  
  
  
  
Time crawled steadily by and days became weeks. There were a number of complications that came with Yaxley becoming Minister, which had to be handled carefully and quietly within the Ministry. Wraith was grateful that she did not have to have a hand in it; it wasn't her area of expertise.   
  
But it did provide distraction for Voldemort. He was often away from the Manor as the weeks went by and Wraith wondered if he was grateful to get away. Her Lord watched her with cautious eyes now, trying to guess at how she intended to play her game.   
  
Wraith continued with the game despite Voldemort's careful observation. Rabastan Lestrange was all but a permanent fixture at the Manor now, an eager puppy seeking Wraith's favor. She kept him at a distance, prolonging the chase he was determined to run.   
  
As far as the other Death Eaters, it became more and more habitual for them to approach her with requests or ideas to pass along to the Dark Lord. They had discovered that despite the fear they felt for her, she was far easier to approach her than it was the Dark Lord. Wraith accepted it, even welcomed it. It played so well into her hand after all.   
  
Early one evening in mid-November, Wraith was met at the base of her tower by Harper. The youth bowed low to her, the sincere gesture lighted by his bright grin. "My Lady," he said, offering her his arm.   
  
"Good evening, Harper," she replied, smiling in return.   
  
"Are we off to intimidate our fellows?" Harper asked her.   
  
Another thing that had become habitual was that Harper was her constant shadow. When those who were to afraid to come to her needed a message passed along, they now knew they could seek Harper instead.   
  
"Hm, perhaps," Wraith said as they walked down the hall. "I'm not sure I'm in the mood to play tonight. How about we take a walk around the grounds first?"   
  
"Sounds lovely," Harper said, "The sun has only just begun to set. It's rather nice at the moment."   
  
"No rain?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.   
  
"Not right now," Harper said, "But there are clouds on the horizon. It'll probably be raining by tonight."   
  
"Then let us take advantage of the clear sky while we can," Wraith said simply. Harper's grin widened and he laughed. But his playful air vanished as did Wraith's calm a moment later.   
  
They had just come to the bottom of the staircase in the entrance hall––and a long drawn out scream was echoing out from the dungeon door.   
  
Harper glanced quickly at Wraith and was shocked to see that the girl had gone completely white; any color to her already pale face had slipped away. She froze where she stood, shaking slightly.   
  
"My Lady?" Harper said quickly, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "My Lady, are you alright?"   
  
Wraith barely heard the question. The scream seemed so much louder to her than it did to him. The sound of it drove her back to that dismal cell in Azkaban. It was not a scream of pain––It was a scream of madness.   
  
Wraith suddenly broke away from Harper's touch, running to the dungeon door. Harper followed quickly, thinking that there was nothing else he could do. Wraith all but flew down the dungeon steps, the screaming battering at the fragile places of her psyche. She saw Thorfinn Rowle standing before one of the cells, his face twisted in annoyance and one hand pressed to his ear as if he were trying to block out the sound.   
  
"Shut up, damn you!" the large man shouted at whoever was within the cell. " _Shut up_!"   
  
"Rowle!" Wraith's voice was like the crack of a whip across the dungeon.   
  
Rowle froze and then turned to see her. He dropped into a bow at once. "My Lady."   
  
"Go upstairs," she ordered.   
  
"But––my Lady, I was attempting to quiet Thicknesse, you see––"   
  
"Go. Upstairs," Wraith repeated, pointing the way. "I will quiet him."   
  
Rowle hesitated only a moment longer before he hurried away. He paused again when he saw Harper standing at the bottom of the stairs. The youth gave him a pointed look as if daring the man to argue his presence. Rowle wisely decided against speaking and went on past Harper up the stairs.   
  
As soon as she heard the dungeon door close, Wraith looked to Harper. "Check on the other prisoners," she commanded, "I will see to Pius first."   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Harper said.   
  
Wraith crossed to Thicknesse's cell where the man still screamed like the damned. She touched her hand to the door and it swung open to admit her. She quickly stepped into the cell and regarded Thicknesse with a careful eye. The man was sitting, curled up on the stone floor in the corner, his hands digging into the sides of his face, his mouth drawn open with his screams. Wraith knelt before him, taking hold of his hands and pulling them down from his face.   
  
"Pius."   
  
She spoke softly, but it seemed that the man heard her over his own screaming. The scream choked off and he stared at her with empty eyes.   
  
"Stop it," the man whispered, "Can't–– _can't stop it––So many horrible things_!"   
  
"I know," Wraith told him, her voice gentle and firm.   
  
"I did terrible things," Thicknesse told her, rocking back and forth like a small child.   
  
"No," Wraith said, "No, Pius, it wasn't you doing those things. You had no choice. You are not to blame. Do you hear me?"   
  
But Thicknesse let out a wail and tried to pull away from her. She did not let him. He began to sob uncontrollably.   
  
"You are broken," Wraith whispered, "Broken in a way I cannot fix." She ran her hand gently over his hair, treating him like the child his mind had been reduced to.   
  
He cried, high and pitiful, leaning forward to lay his head in her lap. Wraith let him, the pity she felt for him was overwhelming.   
  
"It's not forever, Pius," she told him in a whisper, "It's not, I promise." She took his face in her hands, lifting him up again. Very gently, she touched a fingertip to his forehead and a sliver of power ran down her arm, sliding smoothly into his head. "No more nightmares, Pius," she said to him, "Sleep for me now."   
  
Slowly, the man's eyes fluttered closed and Wraith was able to lay him gently on the floor. A moment later, the man was sleeping deeply, oblivious to the world and the pain it had brought him.   
  
"What did you do?"   
  
Wraith turned her head to see Harper standing before the cell, his eyes wide with fascination.   
  
"Induced a coma," Wraith said shortly, "I've made him sleep so that his broken mind doesn't have to think about what broke it. He won't wake from it, not really. Not until I wake him. You'll have to make sure he eats."   
  
"I can do that," Harper said, nodding solemnly.   
  
Wraith stood, sighing deeply as she gazed down at Thicknesse's sleeping form. She looked to Harper, her face set in serious lines. "The others?"   
  
"Diggory's hurt bad," Harper said, "It looks like he did it to himself."   
  
Wraith nodded, stepping out of the cell and closing it behind her. Together, she and Harper went down the cells until they reached Amos Diggory. Wraith's eyes narrowed when she saw that the man had been strung up, chained to the back wall of his cell, with manacles around his neck and his arms stretched out.   
  
"What is the meaning of this?" she asked Harper softly.   
  
"Rowle and Wormtail interrogated them all after the attempted escape," Harper told her, "Just before they called me here: Turns out that it was Diggory who was behind the attempt––so they punished him. But see his arm?"   
  
Wraith looked back to the prisoner and saw what Harper was talking about. Diggory's right arm hung at a strange angle. It was disturbing to see.   
  
"It probably happened when he tried to fight the chains," Harper said quietly, "Do you think he broke it?"   
  
"I don't know," Wraith said honestly, touching her hand to the cell door, "But I'll find out." The door swung open and she stepped inside. After a moment's thought, she closed the door behind her––just in case.   
  
As she slowly approached the back of the cell, Diggory's eyes opened. He glared daggers at her as she came closer to him. "You here to kill me?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.   
  
"No," Wraith told him. She lifted a hand towards his arm and Diggory tried futilely to move away from her touch. She saw the pain flash across as his face when his movements jostled his injured arm. "Stop that," she told him sharply. With a quick gesture, she froze him so that he could not fight her. But the man's eyes followed her nonetheless.   
  
Wraith glared at him in return and touched her hand to his arm. She closed her eyes as she examined the injury. "Well, your arm's not broken," she told him lightly, "You've dislocated it though. I'll set it to rights, but it will hurt when the joint snaps back into place."   
  
"Why don't you just kill me?" Diggory asked her, gritting his teeth, "I'd rather die than live like this."   
  
Wraith said nothing. Diggory felt a sudden pain flash through his arm and shoulder like a quick fire and he cried out from it. But then the pain was abruptly gone. Finding that he was able to move again, he turned his head to see that his arm had been healed. He turned confused eyes to the Wraith, unable to find words to voice his bewilderment.   
  
"I am neither djinn nor fairy godmother," Wraith told him, "I do not grant wishes."   
  
Before Diggory could speak, she turned on her heel and was gone, Harper along with her.   
  
  
  
  
A couple of days later, Wraith chose to wander the grounds of the Manor alone. She had left Harper in the drawing room to speak with the Death Eater Quincy. The man had been too nervous to speak clearly in her presence, so she removed herself from the room. She wanted a moment alone in any case.   
  
The evening was cool, the air nearly golden with the sun hiding behind a thin ray of clouds. After she had walked alone for several minutes, she was rather surprised when she felt her Lord's presence coming up behind her. She paused, looking over her shoulder to see him.   
  
"My Lord," she said, bowing her head to him.   
  
"We must talk," he told her, coming up to walk beside her.   
  
"As you wish, my Lord," she said, a touch of mockery in her tone, "I am at your convenience."   
  
"And this is exactly what we must speak of," Voldemort said sharply. "Why do you insist on playing this game, my Wraith?"   
  
Wraith stopped suddenly and looked up at him. There was no mockery in her face now as she considered him. "…Why do people do anything?" she said softly, "…Because they  _can_."   
  
They had reached the Rose Maze and Wraith darted around the side of it, briefly disappeared from the dark Lord's sight.   
  
"You are my most valuable servant," Voldemort called after her, attempting to follow her quick footsteps, "Why can you not be satisfied with that?"   
  
"I already told you," Wraith said, her voice a disembodied sound coming from somewhere ahead of him.   
  
Voldemort came around the far corner of the maze to see her standing in the entrance to it, waiting for him.   
  
"I want more," Wraith told him. "It is in  _that_  which we are kindred spirits, my Lord. We always want more."   
  
"Step away from there," Voldemort whispered.   
  
Wraith smiled slowly and actually took a step backwards into the maze itself just to see her Lord's eyes go wide with ire––before she did as he'd asked and stepped away from the maze. Continuing around it, she spoke softly. "You'll let me play my game, my Lord, don't deny it. Because it does no harm and I am too useful to you even when playing it."   
  
"True enough," Voldemort admitted, following her again as she started towards the forest's edge, "But you try my patience."   
  
"As I always do, my Lord," Wraith reminded him with a pert little smile, "I would think that you would be used to that by now."   
  
"You play the game well with Rabastan," Voldemort commented after a moment's silence.   
  
"That is because he doesn't know how the game works," Wraith said, "Not like you do. He is far easier to manipulate."   
  
"Do you admit that you manipulate  _me_ , pet?" Voldemort demanded.   
  
"Only a little," Wraith said, her eyes glittering with dark mirth, "Only the little that I can. But you must give me that much credit, my Lord. I _can_  manipulate you just a little."   
  
Voldemort scowled and did not give an answer to her. Wraith smile went sharp, but she turned her eyes away from him. They walked in silence for a few minutes more, edging deeper into the forest.   
  
"May I ask you something?"   
  
Voldemort glanced at her, realizing from her tone that something serious had wormed its way into her mind. "Ask," he told her.   
  
"It has occurred to me that when you created me, I was only meant to be a power source," Wraith said softly. "What changed?" she asked, turning to face him, "You could have simply left me in Azkaban and used me solely as the power source that I am. Three years ago, it wouldn't have occurred to me to argue it. I'd have let you."   
  
Voldemort considered her a moment, his eyes narrowed. Finally, he answered. "The loyalty that Gavin had instilled in you changed things," he told her, "Such an unwavering devotion impressed me. And such loyalty deserved reward. So I took you from that place and gave you freedom."   
  
"A sort of freedom, anyhow," Wraith retorted, smirking at him. "And I appreciate it; I do. But tell me the  _real_  reason you took me from Azkaban."   
  
"…I wanted to see what you could do," Voldemort said.   
  
"Ah," Wraith said slowly, smiling at him, "Now  _that_  is a good reason. And what have you found, my Lord? Am I more than you expected?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
Wraith's smile widened. "Good," she said shortly. "I am more than I expected too."   
  
She turned and started walking again, but there was something hesitant in her movements now, as if she were walking across broken glass. "There's something else," she said softly.   
  
"Go on," Voldemort said slowly.   
  
"Why did it take you so long to come for me?" she asked, "I would have been fourteen when you were returned to your body. Why did you wait before fetching me?"   
  
"I had no use for you yet," the Dark Lord told her.   
  
"I rather wish you had," Wraith said simply, "We could have avoided the whole Gavin debacle completely had you come for me before."   
  
Voldemort scowled when he realized she was right. "Perhaps I should have," he admitted.   
  
Wraith laughed softly, rather stunned that he had admitted it. "Oh, well," she said, "What's past is past. There's no changing it now. And I understand your reasons."   
  
"You are more than I created you to be, my Wraith," Voldemort told her, "and I find that I am grateful for it. I am glad to have you."   
  
Wraith's footsteps faltered just slightly.   
  
"…You're only saying that," she said, looking back at him. Her smile was sharp, but Voldemort heard the softness in her words. When he remained silent, Wraith sighed and turned away again. She lifted her hands and ran them through her hair in an idle gesture.   
  
"I'm going back in," she said abruptly. "I'm in the mood for a bath." She glanced at the Dark Lord and smiled prettily. "Goodnight, my Lord."  
  
  
  
  
Wraith slipped into the nearly scalding bathwater, hissing softly as her skin reacted to the heat. As she lay back in the bathtub, she felt her mask finally crumbled. Safely tucked away in the bathroom and camouflaged by the running water, Wraith let herself cry.   
  
How her heart had leapt at those words––and how it had broken.   
  
Those simple words had hurt her, if only because they'd proved to her that some part of her was still the Dark Lord's. She wasn't as free of him as she had believed and it  _hurt_  to realize it. But the pain only made her angry, only made her hate him more.   
  
 _I will be your weakness––I will_  not  _allow you to become mine_! "I won't," she whispered aloud, "I won't!"   
  
Eventually, the tears ran dry and Wraith felt her calm return to her. She slipped further down into the water, sighing.   
  
But even as her calm returned, she felt something jar at her instincts. She shifted slightly in the water, her eyes going to the door. She felt Voldemort's presence on the other side of it. He made no attempt to conceal it.   
  
 _What does he want?_  Wraith wondered silently, her eyes narrowing. She stood and stepped out of the bathtub, reaching for a towel to wrap around torso. Though he did not knock, Wraith crossed to the door and pulled it open just enough to see him.   
  
Voldemort looked down at her, taking in the sight of her damp hair and the bare skin of her legs not covered by the towel. Slowly, he brought his eyes back to hers.   
  
"Get dressed. We're going hunting."


	51. Raw

_"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness."_  
  
  
  
  
It was Avery who had cracked the magical protections around the home of Ted and Andromeda Tonks. And it was rumored that the Tonks were playing host to others. The Death Eater was quite proud of himself to have provided the opportunity to capture not only a Mudblood and his blood-traitor wife, but also their daughter and her husband, Remus Lupin.   
  
When his name had been spoken, Wraith had a flash of memory.  _Diagon Alley––the sad-eyed man with the careful words. The werewolf.  
  
"You hide it well."   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
"I've met many a werewolf in these past few months––but you are the most human of them. I congratulate you." _  
  
Wraith wondered if he would truly be there in the home of his wife's parents. He had fought at Diagon Alley and that meant without a doubt that he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. It was no wonder that the Dark Lord wanted him captured. Wraith had pieced together what she had learned of the man and was left with the conclusion that not only was Lupin a member of the order, but a  _core_  member at that.   
  
Expecting only a small party within, the Dark Lord gathered only a small number of his followers for the attack. Wraith would play her role as his Lady Death, but it was Bellatrix Lestrange that took center stage that night. The woman wanted a piece of her elder sister, who had made the traitorous decision to marry the Mudblood Ted Tonks. And Bella's own niece had done even worse––to have married a werewolf. Along with Wraith and Bellatrix, Voldemort took Avery and the two Lestrange brothers and no one else.   
  
A storm of rain and ice accompanied the hunters as they approached the grand home of the Tonks. At the gate, Voldemort paused long enough to look to Bellatrix. "Deal swiftly with your sister and niece, Bella, but we want Remus Lupin alive at the end of the night."   
  
Bellatrix looked disappointed. Wraith considered her Lord with pensive eyes.   
  
"And why do we need him alive?" she asked, her voice barely audible over the rain and wind.   
  
"To close a deal I made with Rafe and his wolves," Voldemort replied. He smiled darkly at her, his eyes narrowed. "Announce our presence, my Wraith."   
  
Wraith nodded once and drew back the hood of her white coat as she stepped through the gate. The icy rain plastered her dark hair against her skin as she lifted her arms, calling a jolt of power to her fingertips.   
  
There was a great flash of blue much akin to a bolt of lightning and every window of the house exploded in a shower of glass. Wraith heard a woman scream inside and several other voices shouting out in shock.   
  
The front door flew open as Wraith approached it, with the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters just behind her. A short and heavy man with bright blonde hair stood in the doorway, his wand in hand. Before Wraith could blink, she felt the sting of a Stunning curse hit her heart, and both Avery and Rabastan had collapsed onto the rain-soaked ground beaten down with the same curse.   
  
Impressed by the speed with which the wizard had delivered the curses, she considered him carefully. He was pale, but stood strong in protecting the doorway. "You're quick," Wraith told him with a slight smile.   
  
"Thank you kindly, miss," the wizard replied. It struck Wraith that his face was far more suited to smiling than the grave expression he wore now. "Now, why don't you tell me why you aren't on the ground? Would you be the Lady Death?"   
  
"I am," Wraith told him, holding her head high.   
  
"Well, bloody hell," the man said blandly.   
  
Wraith laughed, unable to stop herself. "Your name?" she asked, sensing the Dark Lord's impatience as he came up behind her.   
  
"Ted Tonks," the wizard replied. "Would you be the one who smashed up our windows?"   
  
"Guilty," Wraith said with the slightest shrug.   
  
"My wife will want a word with you 'bout that," Ted said lightly. His eyes found Voldemort's in the darkness. "Your Lord doesn't have much patience for polite conversation, does he?"   
  
"No," Wraith said musingly, glancing over her shoulder at the Dark Lord, "He doesn't." Smiling still, she looked back to the wizard. "Run and protect your family, Ted Tonks," she told him, "…Or fall now."   
  
Without hesitation, Ted disappeared further into the house and out of sight. Wraith heard him shouting at the others inside as she and Voldemort stepped up the front steps and into the house itself. Bellatrix tore off down one hall, Rodolphus another. Wraith chose the less obvious path, sensing magic at the end of it. She found a small sitting room there.   
  
As she entered the room, a knife buried itself in the doorframe a mere inch from her head. She raised a brow at the dark-haired woman who had thrown it. "You missed," she said lightly.   
  
"Not much practice with it, I'm afraid," the woman said, lifting her head proudly.   
  
"I must say," Wraith murmured, "Bellatrix resembles you much more than Narcissa does. Andromeda."   
  
Andromeda Tonks gestured her wand once again, this time the conjured blade flew directly towards Wraith's heart. Wraith held up a hand and stopped it in mid-air, the point of the blade touching her palm. Wraith snapped her fingers and the blade disappeared completely. Andromeda dove to the side, reaching for something hidden under a chair. Wraith moved quickly towards her, reaching the witch as she brought the shotgun up and pointed it at the girl.   
  
Wraith froze and Andromeda felt a shot of fear to see the utter rage that flashed through her crystal eyes. Power sparked around Wraith as she slowly brought her eyes from the gun to Andromeda's face. "I hate those things," she muttered bitterly, "But pity for you––you hesitated."   
  
Andromeda gasped as the shotgun crumbled to dust in her hands. But the woman recovered quickly, grabbing her wand and conjuring another blade. This one she held in her other hand and she attempted to bring it down upon Wraith. Wraith grabbed her wrist, stopping her.   
  
There was an air of desperation around Andromeda now as she struggled. "You will not harm my family!" the woman cried.   
  
"But others will," Wraith whispered.   
  
"You've destroyed my home," Andromeda snarled, finally pulling her hand free of Wraith's grasp.   
  
Wraith slid smoothly to the side as the knife came down at her again. She twisted her hand around Andromeda's arm and suddenly the knife was in  _her_  hand instead. She grabbed Andromeda's wand arm and twisted it behind the woman's back, holding the knife at her throat with her other hand.   
  
"Broken glass can be replaced," Wraith told her softly, as Andromeda's wand clattered to the floor, "Your lives cannot."   
  
The door of the room suddenly burst open and Wraith scowled slightly at see that Bellatrix had arrived. Bella stepped into the room, her eyes glittering wildly.   
  
"She's  _mine_ ," Bella snapped at Wraith.   
  
"So she is," Wraith murmured in reply.   
  
She released Andromeda's arm and the witch was shocked to discover that her wand had ended up back in her hand. She glanced at Wraith with suspicion as the girl stepped around her.   
  
Wraith smiled sharply at her and touched a hand to her cheek. "Put up a good fight," she told Andromeda, "I'd hate to see Bellatrix walk away from this unscathed."   
  
Bellatrix hissed a warning at her, but Andromeda's face was suddenly lit with a sharp smile of her own. She looked to her sister with that same smile.   
  
"Still making friends, I see, Bells."   
  
"Sibling rivalry at its finest," Wraith said with half a laugh. She passed by Bellatrix and gave her a sardonic little smile. "Have fun,  _Bells_." And then she was gone.   
  
Bellatrix lifted her wand, glaring at her sister. "Let's finish this rivalry, traitor," she spat at Andromeda.   
  
Andromeda nodded, her smile gone as she lifted her own wand in defense.       
  
  
  
  
Wraith followed the sound of battle through the house and found her Lord and Rodolphus in the living room. Voldemort was faced off against Lupin and Rodolphus was only barely holding his own against Ted Tonks. Wraith darted forward to join the Dark Lord and when Lupin saw her, she saw him pale dangerously.  _So, he remembers me too._  
  
Voldemort glanced at her as he deflected a curse from Lupin. "Wraith!" he shouted over the sounds of the small battle, "Search the house––find those that are hiding from us!"   
  
Wraith nodded quickly and started towards another door that led deeper into the house––but then she stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes swinging back towards the front of the house. "My Lord!" she called, "Reinforcements from the Order have come!"   
  
She heard the Dark Lord's muttered curse, but when Wraith tried to head for the front door to hold the Order members off, he caught her arm and pulled her back. "No," he said, keeping his eyes on Lupin. "Do as I ordered. We will handle the rest. Go."   
  
Wraith hissed a curse of her own, but turned away from the battle as several wizards and witches burst into the room. She caught sight of Kingsley as she left the room and it took everything she had not to turn back again.   
  
She hurried through the halls, her magicks stretched out to find any hidden places. They led her into a small room upstairs and she paused in the doorway, frowning. It was obviously a child's room, with the small toddler's bed and the toys scattered across the floor amidst the broken glass from the windows. Disturbed, Wraith stepped slowly into the room, following the sense of the charms she felt. She came to what looked like just another wall, but when she placed her hand upon it, a small secret door opened, just tall enough for a child to disappear through.   
  
Wraith knelt and looked inside. There was another bed inside, and a couple of toys, and it was lit by a small lamp. Wraith saw nothing at first, but her powers had already told her that someone was inside. Her eyes caught the hint of movement under the little bed. She knelt further down to see.   
  
A little boy, perhaps a year old than Rabian Lestrange, stared out at her from under the bed, his brown eyes wide with fear. Wraith felt her heart stop and start again inside her chest. She closed her eyes and took a breath.  _The Dark Lord knew this child would be here. He must be Lupin's son!_  She remembered how McGonagall had gotten Lupin to leave the battle by reminding him of his son.   
  
"…Hello there," Wraith spoke very softly to the boy. She held out a hand to him, "Why don't you come out here? I won't hurt you, I promise."   
  
The boy was crying, staring at her with wide eyes, and he didn't move.   
  
"Please," Wraith said softly, "…My name is Wraith. What's yours?"   
  
The child sniffed. "Teddy," he whispered.   
  
"Teddy, please come out from there. We'll find your mother, get you out of here."   
  
Again, the child sniffed, but then he crawled out from under the bed and reached for the hand she offered him. She gently pulled him from the little room and took him up into her arms. The boy began to cry in earnest, burying his face at her shoulder.   
  
"Oh," Wraith sighed, putting her hand at the back of his head. She felt terribly out of her depth. "Shh, it's okay. Let's find your mother." _Nymphadora must have hidden somewhere else. I doubt anyone would have expected that the child's hiding place would be found first._    
  
Wraith held the boy tight as she slipped from his room and back into the hall. The sounds of battle had increased below and Wraith prayed that Lupin's wife had not joined the fray. Someone had to get the boy out of the house and she didn't dare leave. Maybe if she couldn't get him away then she could hide him better. No one would get through protections of  _her_  making, after all….  
  
Just as she was about to give up, Wraith heard a door burst open down the hall. A young woman with mousy-brown hair and a heart shaped face came out into the hallway, frantically looking around. When her eyes fell on Wraith and her son, she let out a whimper and fell to her knees. Wraith walked down the hall to her, disliking the tears that ran down the woman's pale face.   
  
"Are you Nymphadora?" Wraith asked her.   
  
"Yes," the woman said breathlessly, "Please don't hurt my son," she pleaded, "Please, take me instead!"   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, a raw hurt in her stomach. With an impatient breath, she reached down with her free hand to grab Dora's arm. "Get up," she said sharply, "You can't run on your knees."   
  
Teddy reached out towards his mother with a cry as soon as she was standing. Wraith passed him quickly into Dora's arms and then knelt to pick up the wand that the woman had dropped. Pushing it into Dora' hand, she looked squarely into her eyes.   
  
"Get him out of here," she said firmly. "The fight is still in the living room––you should be able to get to the back door without anyone seeing you."   
  
Dora stared at her. "I…I don't understand. Why would you help us?"   
  
"War is no place for a child," Wraith told her, ashamed that her voice broke slightly. "Take him away, keep him safe. And tell  _no one_  that I helped you."   
  
"I…" Words seem to fail the woman, but then she steeled herself. "Thank you," Dora said.   
  
Wraith deliberately turned her eyes away until she heard Dora run down the hall and out of sight. She waited a few minutes more, shaking slightly. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she started down the hall once more. There was no one else hiding. It was time to return to battle.    
  
She met Kingsley on the stair. It was hard to say who was more stunned. The man recovered first and he lifted his chin as he looked at her.   
  
"Where are Tonks and her son?" he asked, his deep voice a rumble over the sounds of battle.   
  
"Already gone, it seems," Wraith replied, giving him a crooked smile, "But at least I have you to play with."   
  
Kingsley didn't hesitate. He reached into his cloak and Wraith was rather unsurprised when he pulled a gun out.   
  
 _Goddamn it, Vaisey_ , she thought bitterly as she darted to the side of the stair. She heard the gun go off and felt a sharp pain in her right arm, but she had only been grazed.  _Bloody hell, he's a better shot than the others._  
  
Not eager to be shot again, Wraith let out a breath of power and rendered herself invisible.   
  
Kingsley remained remarkably calm as he slowly backed down the staircase. When he was on even ground again, he called out. "Are you still here, Lady Death?"   
  
"Of course," she replied, staying unseen. Her voice seemed to echo from every side of him.   
  
"Why am I still standing? At Diagon Alley, you dropped me without even touching me."   
  
"I like a challenge," she told him.   
  
Kingsley brought the gun up, pointing it harmlessly at the ceiling as he looked around for some sign of her.   
  
"I really hate those things, you know," he heard her oddly echoing voice say.   
  
He looked at the gun in his hand and scowled. "So do I," he admitted, "but I'm afraid they've become necessary when it comes to you."   
  
"I'm sorry," Wraith told him sincerely. "I can't help that I'm immune to your magic."   
  
"What are you?" Kingsley asked her.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith whispered.   
  
Kingsley whipped around, for her voice had been right behind him. Wraith grabbed his arm and the gun in his hand disintegrated just as Andromeda's shotgun had.   
  
"Better than you fall out here," Wraith said, looking into Kingsley's eyes, "It's less likely that you'll be killed."   
  
Kingsley's eyes narrowed in confusion, but before he could speak, his eyes suddenly closed and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.   
  
Wraith touched a hand to where the bullet had grazed her. It had healed in an instant, but the white sleeve of her coat was torn and spattered with drops of her own blood. She breathed a sigh of relief that the bullet had not hit her. She would have been helpless in her healing.   
  
Frowning, she looked down at Kingsley's fallen form. "I wonder," she said softly, though he could not hear her, "If you had managed to shoot me and I had fallen––Would you be able to put a bullet in my head?"   
  
There was no answer for her.   
  
It took Wraith a moment to realize that she could no longer hear the battle. It was over. She knew the results before she had even returned to the living room. After all, the connection between her and the Dark Lord was open and she could sense that he was perfectly fine. And as long as the Dark Lord lived…   
  
Wraith stepped into the room and assessed what she could see. Ted Tonks was lying in a heap at one side of the room, a wound on his head bleeding. He was alive, at least. The same could not be said of some of the others that lay crumpled on the floor. But Wraith turned her eyes away from them and looked to Voldemort instead. He and Rodolphus were standing in front of the kneeling form of Remus Lupin. The werewolf's arms were bound behind his back at a painful angle, but he was looking up at his captors with relatively calm eyes.   
  
"My Lord," Wraith called, making Voldemort turn. "The woman escaped. It looks like she Disapparated when the windows broke."   
  
"And the boy?" Voldemort demanded, "The child?"   
  
" _Child_?" Wraith repeated, her voice sharp and cold.   
  
The Dark Lord seemed to realize his misstep and he turned away from her with a scowl.   
  
"I found no sign of him," Wraith said slowly, her eyes meeting Lupin's briefly, "Nymphadora must have taken him with her."   
  
Lupin's eyes closed and the sheer relief was clear on his face.   
  
"No matter," Voldemort said, "They cannot run forever." He looked to Rodolphus, "Go and find your wife. We've leaving."


	52. Animal

_"Little girls, this seems to say  
Never stop upon your way  
Never trust a stranger friend  
No-one knows how it will end  
As you're pretty, so be wise  
Wolves may lurk in every guise  
Now, as then, 'tis simple truth  
Sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth."_  
  
  
  
  
The Dark Lord and his followers Apparated to the very edge of the Manor's boundaries, with Lupin still bound and held between Rodolphus and Rabastan. The two men lifted him up to his feet and marched him up the path towards the Manor, with Avery in their wake, his wand at Lupin's back. Bellatrix started up after them, moving a little stiffly. Wraith had to hide the almost cruel smirk that threatened her lips as she watched the woman.  
  
Bellatrix had been found in that sitting room where Wraith had left her to battle her sister. She had been out cold amidst the wreckage of a glass cabinet, bleeding from a head wound caused by either the glass or the curse Andromeda had incapacitated her with. Andromeda herself had utterly vanished. Wraith wondered if she had met with her daughter and grandson in the hall and if they had escaped together.   
  
As she watched the Lestrange brothers reach the Manor steps, Wraith realized that she stood alone with Voldemort. She glanced over at him, curious as to why he had also waited. He was looking at her, but not at her face. Instead, his eyes were locked upon her arm. Wraith looked down, remembering belatedly the blood that had remained from Kingsley's shot.   
  
"I was right about Vaisey," Wraith said softly, drawing Voldemort's eyes up to her face. "Both Andromeda and Kingsley had guns. Andromeda hesitated; she didn't get a chance to shoot, but Kingsley was quicker."   
  
Voldemort stepped closer, his hand closing around her arm as he examined the torn sleeve of her coat.   
  
"It was only a graze," Wraith added, "It didn't even slow me down."   
  
"How much danger will this represent?" Voldemort asked her, releasing her.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith said honestly. "Truth be told, I suspect not much at all. They don't like guns as a whole, I think. They hesitate. They falter. And then their guns are worthless." She raised a delicate brow and smirked just slightly. "They're all too stupidly honorable to shoot me in the back as they ought to."    
  
The Dark Lord smirked, the expression darker on his face than on hers.   
  
Since he was still close enough, Wraith turned towards him slightly and touched the back of her hand lightly to his face. There was a trace of blood at the corner of his mouth, suggesting that someone had gotten a lucky shot at him. Wraith brushed it away gently and moved just a little closer.   
  
Voldemort grabbed her wrist and pushed it down away from his face. "No games tonight, my Wraith," he told her, his eyes flashing.   
  
"Pity," Wraith said lightly, stepping away from him again. "I was rather in the mood to play."   
  
With the smallest of shrugs, she turned and started up the path, and the Dark Lord followed her a moment later. When they stepped into the Manor, Wraith was rather unsurprised to see Harper waiting in the hall outside the drawing room door. She smiled as she crossed to him, holding out a hand.   
  
"My Lady," Harper said, taking her hand and bowing his head over it. "I saw that you were successful in your hunting tonight."   
  
"Only partly," Voldemort corrected as he walked past them into the drawing room. Wraith sneered at his back and Harper raised an eyebrow.   
  
"Partly?" he repeated.   
  
"We captured Remus Lupin," Wraith said. She pulled on Harper's hand and they started down the hall and up the stairs. "But his wife––and his son––escaped."   
  
Reading something of the amusement in her voice, Harper coughed politely. "Ah––did they?"   
  
Wraith gave him a dry look. "Yes, indeed," she said, smirking, "Such a pity, isn't it?"   
  
"Oh, yes, quite so," Harper said wryly.   
  
They were silent until they reached her tower and Harper was slightly surprised when Wraith closed the door behind them. She usually left it open so as not to fuel the rumors about them. When she turned back to face him, Harper saw the ire burning in her eyes.   
  
"My Lady?" he said softly.   
  
" _Damn_  him," she muttered darkly. "He told me  _nothing_  about a child!" Her hand clenched into a tight fist at her side. "I found the boy," she told Harper very softly, "He was hidden away in a secret room. Just a little boy," she said sadly, "and he was so frightened. I took him from the room and found his mother."   
  
"You let them escape," Harper realized, smiling slightly.   
  
"I will  _not_  make war on  _children_ ," Wraith hissed through clenched teeth.   
  
"The Dark Lord does," Harper reminded her gently.   
  
"I am not the Dark Lord," Wraith told him, turning away and walking over to one of the windows. She gazed down at the dark grounds below, though it was difficult to see much through the rain. Wraith frowned slightly as she looked to the end of the path that led up to the Manor. Was someone standing there; in the shadow and rain?   
  
Harper stared after her in silence. "There's blood on your coat," he murmured after a moment.   
  
Distracted, Wraith looked down at her arm again and sighed irritably. She slipped out of the coat and tossed it aside. There was more blood on her arm, smeared from the coat. With a distasteful sneer, Wraith conjured a cloth and wiped the half-dried blood away. "Kingsley shot me, but the bullet only grazed my arm," she said.   
  
"Kingsley  _shot_  you?" Harper exclaimed.   
  
Wraith sighed again and lifted tired eyes to the one who called himself her vassal. "Vaisey told the Order of my vulnerability to physical weapons like guns," she said gently. "This wasn't the first time I've faced the consequences of that––and it won't be the last."   
  
"I'm sorry," Harper murmured.   
  
Wraith looked at him, really  _looked_ , and then crossed back over to him. She put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a loose embrace. "Don't do that," she told him firmly. "It isn't your doing, it isn't your fault. And even if it hadn't been Vaisey, someone would have figured it out anyway."   
  
Harper touched a hand to her back and rested his head a moment on her shoulder. "All the same," he said, pulling back, "I'm sorry. Are you okay?"   
  
"Perfectly fine," she assured him. She drew him over to the couch and they sat down. "Now," she said, "Let's change the subject. The Dark Lord took Lupin alive for a reason and it seems to have something to do with Rafe and his wolves…"    
  
  
  
  
It was more than a week later that Wraith finally got her answer concerning the matter of Lupin and Rafe. The werewolves were coming to the Manor that night––and Lupin was to a gift for them. The thought left a bad taste in Wraith's mouth when she considered the reasons that Rafe wanted the man alive. She knew well enough that many of his wolves considered men like Lupin traitors to what they were. Lupin had attempted to live as a normal wizard, whereas Rafe and his kin had utterly turned their backs on society.   
  
Wraith woke at dawn that morning and for reasons she didn't try to question, she went down to the dungeon to where they were holding Lupin. As they had done with Diggory, Lupin was chained at the very back of his cell. He lifted his head when he heard her footsteps and smiled wanly at her.   
  
"Good morning," he said lightly enough.   
  
Wraith said nothing at first and after a moment, Lupin's small smile faded to nothing. "Have you been sent to kill me?" he asked gently.   
  
"No," Wraith said, "I'm afraid you aren't that lucky."   
  
"What do you mean?" Lupin asked.   
  
"The wolves are coming for you tonight," she told him.   
  
"Ah," Lupin said, the realization coming to him, "I see. That's why they've held me here until today. I should have guessed, I suppose."   
  
"Why do you suppose that?" Wraith asked.   
  
"It's the new moon tonight," Lupin replied, "The dark moon. It's almost considered sacred by my… contemporaries, as it were."   
  
"According to my Lord, we'll be gathering in the forest that surrounds the Manor here," Wraith said, "I suppose you'll be given over as some sort of ceremonial sacrifice." There was a bitter and sharp tone to her words. Lupin marveled at the way she almost spat the words from her mouth.   
  
He smiled at her, throwing her off. "You lied."   
  
"I beg your pardon?" Wraith said, blinking at him.   
  
"Last night," Lupin said, "You lied to Voldemort."   
  
It was the first time Wraith had heard his name spoken aloud by someone other than the Dark Lord himself. "Did I?" she said cautiously.   
  
"Dora and our son were still in the house after you destroyed the windows," Lupin said, "I know that they were: Which means they were in the house when you went looking."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes and took a breath. Slowly, she opened her eyes again. "…I found your son first," she whispered to him. Something akin to pain crossed Lupin's wane face. "And then I found your wife," Wraith continued in the same quiet voice. "I told her to take the child and go."   
  
"You let them go," Lupin murmured.   
  
"Yes, I did," Wraith said, "And if you  _ever_  tell  _anyone_  that I did so, I will hunt you down myself and silence you."   
  
"I think that it is unlikely that I'll survive beyond the next full moon, so I don't think it matters what I know," Lupin said dryly, "I'll not tell in any case. I can never repay what you have done for me. Thank you, for my wife and son."   
  
"You're welcome," Wraith told him softly. She glanced up the stairs. "I have to go," she said shortly.   
  
Lupin tried to say something more, but she was gone before he could speak. With a sigh, Lupin hung his head and allowed himself to wonder what would happen to his family after his death.   
  
  
  
  
The sky that night was free of clouds, the storms had passed them over, leaving the night cold and clear. Voldemort and his Death Eaters left the comfort of the Manor and trekked a small distance into the surround woods. They came upon a large clearing and began to prepare it for the coming guests.   
  
Voldemort chose the tallest and most twisted tree at one end of the clearing, bringing his wand up and transfiguring the trunk of it into an ornate and throne-like chair. Rowle and Avery walked around the border of the clearing itself, casting charms to keep anyone but another Death Eater from wandering towards the Manor. The Dark Lord had made it quite clear that he wanted the wolves nowhere near his home, thus why they were meeting them there in the forest instead.   
  
Voldemort glanced around as the Lestrange brothers built a large bonfire in the center of the clearing, the flames rising high above their heads to lick at the night sky. The only light was that fire and the stars in the sky. The moon was dark.   
  
"Bring him," the Dark Lord commanded, his echoing over the clearing.   
  
Rowle took Wormtail by the arm and together they disappeared into the forest, heading back to the Manor. Voldemort settled back into the throne he had conjured and looked around at the Death Eaters that remained in the clearing.   
  
Bellatrix stood near her husband and brother-in-law, all of them dressed in their finest. Bella wore a gown of black and dark silver gray, the skirt ending just at her ankles so that it would not drag across the grass when she walked. As if she had felt his gaze, she looked across the clearing to Voldemort and dipped into a curtsy, her dark eyes glittering.   
  
Voldemort nodded to her and then turned his eyes away. It would not be long before the rest of his followers arrived. The Malfoys had not yet arrived, but Voldemort knew they would not dare to be late. He had commanded Lucius to bring his wife, as he had the first time they had met with Rafe and his wolves. He wanted the animals to understand just what he commanded, and the greatness of it.   
  
The Dark Lord frowned slightly as he looked around the clearing. He did not yet see his Wraith and wondered why she was not there.     
  
  
  
  
Snape ushered the terrified house-elves into the Manor, tired and irritable with his task. He blew out a breath, running his hand idly across his head as he surveyed the small beings that waited for orders from him. They were from Hogwarts and wore the uniform tea-towels stamped with the school's seal. Though tonight, at the Dark Lord's behest, they had been changed to the symbol of Slytherin alone.   
  
"Severus?"   
  
Snape looked up at the stairs to see Wraith coming down, Harper in her shadow as usual. In honor of the guests expected that night, Wraith wore a strapless gown with a full sweeping skirt. The dress was a deep green, and the skirt was covered with a sheer expanse of black, making the green seem even darker. Wrapped around her throat was a necklace of black beads––and as she had the last time the wolves had been called, she wore Slytherin's locket at her breast. Snape did his best not to stare at it as she and Harper approached.   
  
Wraith looked over the frightened house-elves with a sharp eye. "What is all this?" she asked Snape.   
  
"The Dark Lord requested that I bring them from Hogwarts to serve here tonight," Snape replied, sensing the woman's ire.   
  
Wraith's eyes flashed and she glanced over at Harper. "Antony, will you wait for me outside? I'll only be a moment."   
  
"Of course, my Lady," Harper said at once. He nodded to Snape, smiling as he passed by to cross to the door.   
  
Once he had gone through the door and closed it behind him, Wraith sighed and knelt before the house-elves. "You needn't be afraid," she told them firmly. "Just go about the tasks set to you. I'll place a charm on you all to protect you, should something go wrong. You'll not be harmed."   
  
Many of the elves that Snape had brought knew Wraith from her time at Hogwarts and were greatly relieved by her words. For the few that did not know her, they were at least reassured by their companions' relief. Wraith laid a hand over each elf, using only a spark of power to lay a thin layer of protection over them. When she was finished, she nodded silently to Snape.   
  
He turned to the elves. "Go down to the kitchens and begin your tasks," he told them, "You'll be summoned when you are needed."   
  
He and Wraith waited until the house-elves had gone before speaking again. "That was kind of you," Snape commented lightly.   
  
"I know what kind of sport our fellow Death Eaters would make of them otherwise, not to mention our honored guests," Wraith said dryly. She smirked at him, tilting her head to one side. "Shall we?"   
  
Snape rolled his eyes skyward, but he offered his arm to her anyway. Wraith touched her hand to his arm and they started for the door.   
  
But before he reached to open the door, Snape hesitated. "Wraith," he said in the smallest of whispers, "Do you know what it is you wear around your neck?"   
  
Wraith looked at him sharply. "…I suspect that it is more than the Dark Lord told me it was," she said softly in reply.   
  
"––I think it best that we leave it at that, for now," Snape said.   
  
"As you like," Wraith said, her eyes narrowing, "but I'll want an explanation before long."   
  
"I promise you'll have one," Snape told her.   
  
  
  
  
The Death Eaters stood in a wide circle around the edge of the clearing, perfectly motionless as though they were statues; stone guardians of the forest. There were at least thirty of them by Rafe's count and count them he did as he led his pack into the clearing. He had done well, by his estimation, for the number of wolves he had brought with him.   
  
His dark eyes locked quickly upon the Dark Lord, sitting in the strange throne-like chair made from the twisted tree. He walked in long strides, around the bonfire, until he had come within a few feet of the quasi-throne.   
  
For a moment, he stood before Voldemort, his chin tilted proudly––and then he bowed deeply to the Dark Lord, his wolves following suit in his wake. When he brought his head back up, Rafe grinned toothily.   
  
"My Lord," he said, "You've called, I've come. As agreed." There was the slightest edge to his words, as if acting as a warning to the Dark Lord.   
  
Voldemort smirked and gestured to the Death Eaters at either side of him. They disappeared into the trees, only to reappear a moment later, carrying a burden between them. Lupin had been bound to a crude wooden stand, forced into a kneeling position with his arms held out and wrapped tightly with chains. The two Death Eaters dropped him at the edge of the clearing and then walked back to their positions at either side of Voldemort's throne.   
  
"The werewolf Remus Lupin," Voldemort said, his eyes on Rafe, "…As agreed."   
  
Rafe's grin went sharp and he threw back his head to laugh. The sound of it was almost akin to a wolf's howl. "Our gratitude for delivering the traitor," Rafe said, bowing his head to Voldemort, "You can trust that he'll be dealt with accordingly."   
  
"I expected as much," the Dark Lord replied with a dark smile.   
  
Rafe clapped his hands together and looked around the clearing with expectant eyes. "And now that the business has been dealt with," he said, "Let us celebrate the new moon properly."   
  
Voldemort nodded, gesturing his approval. Rafe in turn gestured to a few of his wolves, each of them carrying instrument cases. They all shared a grin as they set up at the other side of the clearing. Rafe stepped forward to stand beside Voldemort and survey the crowd with him, as the werewolves and Death Eaters mixed.   
  
"A good gathering indeed," Rafe said, "I think this was a good idea, Dark Lord. Besides," he added, "it's best to remind our respective packs to have a little  _fun_  now and then."   
  
"Indeed," Voldemort agreed, "and a better chance to observe them as well."   
  
Rafe grinned, his eyes glittering with dark humor. His smile faded a moment as he saw a trio of people step into the clearing, his eyes locked upon the figure in the center.   
  
"Well now," he murmured, his eyes going wide, "Your little Lady Death is all grown up, isn't she?"   
  
Voldemort followed the werewolf's gaze across the clearing and a dark smile came to his face. It matched the one that Wraith wore as she slowly crossed over to them.   
  
"Welcome, Rafe," she said, her voice soft and dark. She walked around him, looking him up and down as if weighing his worth. When she came to face him again, her smile widened. "I trust that you are satisfied with your gift?"   
  
"Oh," Rafe said, leaning down a little closer to her, "very much so––my Lady."   
  
Wraith flashed a quick and wicked grin at him before she turned to Voldemort. She curtsied, bowing her head. "My Lord," she murmured.   
  
"Wraith," Voldemort replied, reaching out to take her by the wrist, "You do me justice tonight."   
  
"As was my intention, my Lord," Wraith said smoothly. She leaned down, putting her lips very close to his ear. "I'm going to go and mingle," she whispered to him, "Let's see just how many people I can throw off balance tonight, shall we?" With a soft laugh, she straightened and walked away.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed when he saw how Rafe's gaze followed his Wraith across the clearing. "It seems you've already begun, pet," he muttered darkly.


	53. Desire

_"Never a possession, always the possessor: Desire is everything you've ever wanted. Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Everything."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith made her way through the crowd and the shadows cast by the bonfire. She smiled when she saw a trio of familiar faces at one edge, standing a little apart from the rest.   
  
"Narcissa," she said, holding her hands out to the woman.   
  
Narcissa smiled in return, though hers was a little strained. She took the younger woman's hands in hers and leaned forward to kiss the air beside her cheek. "My Lady," she said.   
  
Wraith looked to Lucius and Draco and nodded to them both. "You all look very fine," she commented.   
  
Narcissa bowed her head, accepting the compliment. Her dress was done with black and pale gold, the neck and sleeves done in sharp points. Lucius wore fine dress robes of black, while Draco wore a more casual suit and tie.   
  
"But who is watching over Rabe tonight?" Wraith asked, looking between them.   
  
Narcissa shared a quick glance with her husband. "A family friend," she replied after a moment's hesitation.   
  
"A friend of mine, actually," Draco said, drawing Wraith's attention to him and away from his mother.   
  
"Oh? Someone I've met?" she asked.   
  
"Ah, no," Draco said, his eyes darting to the side.   
  
"I see," Wraith said slowly, "Someone you don't want known. Well," she said with a grin, "in that case––I won't ask you what her name is."   
  
Draco smiled despite himself and ducked his head to hide it. Wraith laughed brightly and both Lucius and Narcissa breathed discrete sighs of relief.   
  
"Strange to think," Narcissa said, looking around the clearing, "that is has been more than two years since the last gathering of this kind. So much has changed."   
  
"And yet so much has remained the same," Wraith said softly. She sighed. "Well, I suppose I should talk to more people. Good to see you here tonight," she told the three of them before she slipped back into the crowd.   
  
At the edge of the clearing, both Voldemort and Rafe watched her slip through the gathering like a flame that had broken free of the bonfire. As they observed her, she met again with Snape and Harper at one side of the fire, smiling brightly as she slipped her arm around Harper's. It did not escape Voldemort's attention that the boy was dressed in black slacks and a dark green shirt to match the Wraith's gown.   
  
Knowing full well that she was being watched like a hawk, Wraith leaned in very close to Harper's ear. "This is going to be an interesting night," she murmured.   
  
"You are a master of the understatement, my beloved Lady," Harper replied in the same quiet voice. Wraith laughed and pulled away from him.   
  
Bright and thrumming music began to sweep over the clearing, inciting a number of cheers from the men and a few howls from the wolves. Seeing someone else that she had hoped would be there that night, she moved quickly through the crowd. She reached out a hand and caught the werewolf lightly by the hand.   
  
"Ze'eva," she said as the taller woman turned in surprise. Wraith released her quickly and smiled easily. "Will you sing tonight?" she asked.   
  
Ze'eva blinked at her and then smiled slightly. "It's likely," she replied.   
  
"I look forward to it," Wraith told her. She tilted her head to one side, noting the odd way that Ze'eva was looking at her. "What is it?"   
  
Carefully, Ze'eva stepped closer, her face close to Wraith's dark hair. She breathed deeply and then shook her head disbelievingly. "You even _smell_  different," the werewolf told her.   
  
Wraith smiled slowly, a wicked edge to it. With a wink, she slipped back into the crowd. Ze'eva looked after her, but then she was caught by another werewolf and pulled into a dance.   
  
Soon the space around the bonfire became a place for various dancers, some dancing quite close to one another and others more spaced apart. At first, the dancers were mostly wolves, but after a while more and more Death Eaters joined the fray. Wraith stopped where she stood when she heard the haunting sound of a violin melt into the music. She knew without looking that it wasn't Janesch, but her heart constricted nonetheless. She swayed where she stood, smiling languidly as the music took her.    
  
"My Lady!"   
  
Wraith opened her eyes, turning to see Harper just as he took her hands and pulled her into the dance. She threw back her head and laughed, allowing herself to become lost in the rhythm of the music. She and Harper swung around the bonfire, with him leading their steps. Wraith realized belatedly that he seemed to be putting her on display.   
  
Rafe's eyes followed her every step as she danced. "Your Wraith is much changed," he commented to Voldemort.   
  
"You are not the first to notice," the Dark Lord replied, also watching her.   
  
"I feel compelled to ask… Have you still a claim on her?"   
  
Voldemort's head snapped around at the question.   
  
Rafe held up a hand in defense, "My apologies."   
  
"…Actually," Voldemort said slowly, "I do not."   
  
Rafe's eyes narrowed with deliberation. "Ah."   
  
"How deep is your interest in her?" Voldemort asked him, turning his gaze back to the dancing woman. That she had given her innocence away still incensed him, but if he could use it…then he would.   
  
"Merely speculative at the moment," Rafe said, "but I'd be grateful for the chance to explore the opportunity."   
  
"…How grateful?"    
  
  
  
  
"They're talking about me," Wraith muttered as Harper spun her around, "I can feel it."   
  
"My Lady,  _everyone_  is talking about you," Harper corrected.   
  
Wraith laughed breathlessly and pulled Harper away from the dance. They walked over to where Snape stood, leaning against a tree as he talked with one of Rafe's wolves. Seeing them approach, he took a wine glass from one of the house-elves that had just begun to wander the crowd with trays of food and drink.   
  
"Lady Wraith," Snape said, offering her the glass.   
  
"Severus," she replied, "Are you enjoying yourself?"   
  
"My Lady is joking, isn't she?" Snape said dryly. He took a glass for Harper and one for himself as well. "My Lady," he said, gesturing to the wolf he had been speaking to, "This is Bartok. He is Rafe's third."   
  
Bartok was a very large man, rivaling even Fenrir Greyback. His bowed his head to Wraith respectfully.   
  
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Bartok," Wraith said lightly. "You are Rafe's third? Is his Beta his sister?"   
  
"Yes," Bartok said, looking surprised that she had guessed. "Ze'eva is the one with the sharp mind," he added, "I'm the enforcer."   
  
Wraith grinned at him. "Never would have guessed," she said dryly.   
  
Bartok blinked and then laughed gruffly.   
  
Wraith shared a rather sly smile with Harper as she sipped from her wine. "Will you have a dance with me, Severus?" she asked the man.   
  
"I do not dance," Snape told her firmly, shifting uncomfortably.   
  
"Oh, come now," Wraith said, grinning wickedly, "just one little dance?"   
  
"With all due respect, my Lady, not a chance in hell."   
  
Wraith laughed in delight at the familiar sneer on Snape's face. When his face darkened just slightly, she took it as a warning and was not surprised when she heard someone's footsteps behind them.   
  
"Lady Wraith?"   
  
Wraith turned her head slightly to see Rabastan approaching cautiously. "Good evening, Rabastan," she said, tilting her head to the side as she looked at him.   
  
"I was wondering if I might ask a dance of you?"   
  
"Perhaps later," she replied lightly, "I'll find you."   
  
Rabastan heard the dismissal, polite as it was, and bowed his head to her before he melted away into the crowd. Wraith smirked into her glass, fighting laughter.   
  
"He won't be the only one," Harper predicted.   
  
"But I'd lay bets that he's the most determined," Snape said evenly.   
  
Wraith and Harper stood with Snape and Bartok for a little while. Wraith had many questions for the werewolf as far as the pack structure and he seemed willing enough to speak of it. It was interesting to know that Rafe had become the Alpha not through brute force, but careful planning with his sister. Not many of the pack had been sorry to see the previous Alpha go, it seemed.   
  
As the night deepened around them, it seemed that the wine had begun to take effect on the gathering. Laughter grew more frequent, as did those who danced around the fire. Wraith watched it all with a careful and thoughtful eye.   
  
She had noticed, earlier on, that Rafe had disappeared from the Dark Lord's side and was somewhere in the crowd. She spotted him a while later, speaking with his sister at one side of the clearing. Whatever they were talking about had Ze'eva laughing. Wraith watched from the corner of her eye as Rafe scowled at his sister's laughter.   
  
"Hm," she murmured, turning her gaze to Bartok, who was on his fourth glass of wine. "Bartok, I know that Rafe and Ze'eva are brother and sister, but who is the elder?"   
  
"Ze'eva, but only by a few minutes," Bartok replied, leaning back against a tree with his eyes closed. "They're fraternal twins."   
  
Wraith blinked in surprise and glanced back over at them. "Really?"   
  
"They have different fathers," Bartok said. "That's why they look so different."   
  
"But you said they were twins," Harper said, frowning, "How could they have different fathers?"   
  
"He said they were fraternal twins," Snape said. "That means different eggs, Harper. It's not common, but it can happen."   
  
"When did they become werewolves?" Wraith asked, "And how did they both end up this way? Were they attacked at the same time?"   
  
"No, Ze'eva was bitten first. She was thirteen, I think. Rafe turned 'bout five years later, following her." He blinked. "I think I've had enough to drink," he muttered. "I shouldn't have told you that much. It's personal."   
  
"I won't say anything," Wraith assured him.  _Rafe 'followed' her? Did Ze'eva bite her brother at his request?_  
  
Her train of thought was broken when she realized that Ze'eva was hurrying over from across the clearing. The woman was grinning ear to ear as she reached them. A new song had just begun; the music now carried a slightly darker edge.   
  
"Ze'eva," Wraith said, smiling at her.   
  
"Lady Wraith," she replied, still grinning, "I'm going to sing soon, the band wants a few more songs of their own first."   
  
"Excellent," Wraith said, "I remember your singing from the last time I saw you. You have a beautiful voice."   
  
"Thank you," Ze'eva said, tossing her wild hair over her shoulder. She, unlike most of the women gathered, wore dark slacks rather than a skirt, paired with a dressy sort of vest that showed off the slim muscles of her arms. Ze'eva glanced at the men, making sure that the three of them were distracted by their own conversation. Then she slipped an arm around Wraith's bare shoulders. "Come and dance with me; just us girls," she whispered playfully.   
  
Wraith's smile widened, for she had heard the mischievous tone of her words. "Why?" she asked slowly.   
  
"Because it will piss my brother off," Ze'eva replied, laughing.   
  
Wraith giggled, grinning wickedly as she took Ze'eva's hand and pulled her towards the fire to dance.   
  
It took the others a moment to realize that Wraith had effectively disappeared. Harper caught sight of her first and grinned. "Ooh, that's a pretty sight."   
  
Snape followed his gaze and then choked on his wine. After a moment to curse the girl silently, he had to admit that Harper had a point. The two women moved gracefully around one another, catching more than one pair of eyes as they made their way around the fire's edge to the music. Glancing around, he saw that both the Dark Lord and Rafe were scowling proficiently.   
  
Amused despite himself, Snape shared a small smile with Harper.  
  
  
  
  
The moment that she and Ze'eva broke away from the dance, still laughing, Wraith felt someone catch her by her hand. Turning, she wasn't all that surprised to see Rafe. The werewolf smiled slowly at her, stepping closer. "Do I get a dance as well, Lady Death?" he asked her.   
  
"Perhaps," Wraith replied ambiguously, "Do you dance as well as your sister?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. She heard Ze'eva break into helpless laughter behind her and fought the grin that threatened.   
  
Rafe gave his sister a very dirty look. Wraith knew that as Alpha, Rafe could have asserted his will on his sister to get her to behave and she found that she respected him a little that he didn't.  
  
"Actually," Rafe said, "I wished to speak to you, Lady Wraith. Privately," he added, looking firmly at his sister, "If that's alright?"   
  
"If you like," Wraith said slowly, glancing at Ze'eva.   
  
The woman rolled her eyes, winked at Wraith, and then slipped into the crowd. Rafe, who still held Wraith's hand loosely, drew her over to the trees, hiding them slightly in the shadows.   
  
"It's been quite some time since I've seen you," Rafe said, leaning down so that he could speak softly for her ears alone. "I must say, the time has been kind to you. You're certainly a vision tonight."   
  
Wraith smirked slightly, flattered and amused at the same time. "Thank you," she said easily enough, wondering when he would get to the point. She already knew what it was, but she wanted him to say it.   
  
"I was speaking with your Lord about you, actually," Rafe told her, gesturing to where Voldemort sat, observing the crowd, "And I asked him if he still had a claim on you. He said that he didn't. I mentioned that I would be grateful for the opportunity to lay my own claim, as it were."   
  
Wraith raised a brow, giving him a rather dry look.   
  
"The Dark Lord," Rafe continued, more carefully now, "said that you might be willing."   
  
"Did he?" Wraith said, her voice suddenly cold as she looked over at Voldemort. The Dark Lord seemed to feel her stare and he glanced over to meet her eyes.   
  
"Ha," Rafe said softly with a feral grin. "I wondered if he was telling the truth."   
  
"Whether he spoke the truth or not, it wasn't his place to tell you," Wraith said, a little sharp as she looked back to Rafe.   
  
"You are not the carefully trained and tame little tiger he thinks you are––are you?" Rafe asked her, leaning very close to her.   
  
Wraith smiled slowly at him as he touched her hair softly. "I'll be right back," she told him slowly, touching a hand to his chin, "Wait for me…and you'll have your dance."   
  
Rafe grinned at her and let her go.       
  
  
  
  
Voldemort glanced over again and saw his Wraith approaching.   
  
"My Lord," she said, bowing her head to him before she stepped up to stand beside his throne. "Are you enjoying the festivities?" she asked him.   
  
"You are angry with me, my Wraith."   
  
"You're observant," Wraith retorted. She turned and leaned down, placing one hand on the armrest and putting her lips very close to his ear. Her long hair acted as something a veil, hiding her face and part of his from the crowd. "I am not a virgin anymore––That does  _not_  mean that I am for sale to the highest bidder," she hissed at him.   
  
Voldemort turned his head slightly in her direction, but did not look at her. "It is in our best interests right now to keep Rafe and his wolves happy," he told her, "You  _do_  have our best interests at heart, don't you,  _pet_?"   
  
"Best interest aside, my  _Lord_ ," Wraith murmured, her voice dangerously calm, "You are not my pimp––Do not treat me as your whore."   
  
Her teeth closed over the edge of his ear and she bit down. Voldemort jerked just slightly, hissing at the sharp pain. Wraith straightened and stalked away before he could stop her. Voldemort watched her go, lifting a hand to his ear where she had bitten him. He was not surprised when his fingers came away with a trace of blood. Despite his indignation, he could not help but smirk at his Wraith's fire.   
  
Wraith stalked through the crowd, her movements almost serpentine, until she found Rafe with Snape, Harper, and Bartok. Both he and Harper held cigarettes and were seated on a grassy knoll, talking amongst themselves while Snape and Bartok stood to the side and watched the crowd.   
  
Snape glanced over at Wraith as she approached and saw quite clearly the look in her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Wraith shook her head at him. She walked up to where Rafe and Harper sat. Both men looked up at her expectantly, but Wraith only had eyes for Rafe.   
  
Smiling darkly, Wraith reached down and took the cigarette from Rafe's lips and put it to her own. "…Do you want to play a game?" she asked him softly, exhaling the smoke.   
  
Rafe looked up at her, his eyes narrowed. "…What do I get?" he asked in return.   
  
"A chance to piss him off––and live to tell the tale."   
  
Rafe grinned and slowly got to his feet. "I'm in," he said.   
  
Wraith offered his cigarette back and as he took it, she turned on her heel, her skirts sweeping around her ankles. She looked at him over her shoulder, giving him a knife-edged smile. "Let's dance, you and I."


	54. Flame

_"Love belongs to Desire. And Desire is always Cruel."_  
  
  
  
  
Harper was laughing with one of Rafe's wolves, a young woman with hair shorter than his and a gold hoop in her left eyebrow––but he watched his Lady out of the corner of his eye all the while. Wraith had led the wolves' Alpha out towards the bonfire, but they had stopped briefly to speak with the band beforehand.   
  
"I'm sorry," Harper said, turning his attention back to the young wolf, "What was your name again?"   
  
"Abby," she reminded him, not looking surprised that he had forgotten already. She glanced out towards the fire and her dark eyes widened when she saw Rafe and Wraith together. With a sigh, Abby drained the last of the wine from her glass. "He's got a taste for danger, don't he?"   
  
"She does too," Harper said, smirking.   
  
Before the words had even left his mouth, the music changed once more. It was darker, just a touch slower, and sent a shiver down Harper's spine.   
  
"Harper!" Harper frowned at the commanding tone, but looked calmly at Rabastan. The man was on the edge of intoxicated, a shimmering and very thin edge at that. "Where is the Wraith?" the man demanded.   
  
Harper raised a brow and then gestured silently towards the bonfire. Rabastan turned, looking confused, until his eyes locked onto Wraith.   
  
Rafe had pulled her rather close, one hand holding hers, the other at the small of her back. They shared a wicked smile and began to dance. Their movements were serpentine, utter fluid as they moved together through the other dancers. They moved as one to the dark and thrumming music. Many of the other dancers stopped to watch them, as did most of the crowd.   
  
Harper snuck a peak at the Dark Lord and wasn't surprised when he saw Voldemort staring intently at his Wraith. Harper looked over at Rabastan and watched as the man's grip on his wine glass tightened. The glass shattered in his hand and he threw down the remnants of it with a snarl and stalked off into the forest. Harper watched him go and then turned to grin at Abby.   
  
"Want to dance?"   
  
  
  
  
Rafe pressed the lines of their bodies together, she could smell the earthy scent of his skin and feel the warmth of it sharply against the coolness of her own. She kept her eyes on his face as they danced, as if he were the only one there. And as she watched him, he watched her. He flashed a quick grin at her as he spun her around and dipped her backwards. Wraith laughed, she couldn't help it, as he brought her back up again.   
  
Rafe leaned his face down, inhaling the scent of her hair. "Your Lord is a fool," he whispered darkly into her ear.   
  
Wraith turned her head so that they were cheek to cheek and laughed under her breath. "Say that a little louder," she retorted, "I don't think he heard you."   
  
Rafe chuckled and spun her around before catching her in his arms again. Wraith lifted her hand from his shoulder to his cheek and murmured, "Keep whispering in my ear," she told him with a wicked smile, "Let them all wonder what you're saying."   
  
Rafe closed his eyes as she slowly traced her fingertips down his neck before putting her hand on his shoulder again. Wraith felt the shiver that coursed down his back and smiled darkly.   
  
"You're very graceful," Rafe told her, whispering in her ear again.   
  
"Janesch said the same thing," Wraith replied, "The night we met."   
  
"How is Vivaldi? I heard a rumor he disappeared back to France."   
  
"He did," Wraith said, her smile softening. "He's back in Britain now, I think, but I haven't seen him yet." She laughed suddenly at a memory. "Did you really think that he was chasing me?" she asked Rafe.   
  
"I was almost certain of it," he said, looking surprised. "Was he really not?"   
  
"Not a bit," Wraith said, shaking her head. "He was a rare thing––a good friend. And it's really thanks to you that I met him. I suppose I ought to be…grateful," she murmured, tilting her head up a little.   
  
Rafe raised an eyebrow. "Grateful, hm?" He leaned down, putting their faces rather close, "I think I like the sound of that."   
  
Though the dance was simply for show, Rafe found that he was enjoying himself nonetheless. As the music began to draw to a close, he increased the speed of their steps until Wraith's hair was flying with every turn.   
  
Just as the song ended, Rafe dipped her low to the side and Wraith threw back her head and laughed. Rafe held her that way for a moment just to make sure everyone had seen, before he brought her back up to her feet. Wraith continued to laugh breathlessly as she slid her arm around the back of his neck. Rafe joined her laughing, unable to help himself.   
  
When she could no longer resist the temptation, Wraith turned her eyes to the Dark Lord. Voldemort was watching her, as she knew he would be. The look in his inhuman eyes was deep and intense and for a moment Wraith could not look away. She had not seen that look in his eyes for a while now and to see it again sent the smallest shiver down her spine. It wasn't anger as she had expected––It was  _hunger_.   
  
Wraith's smile was slow and darkly sweet as the Dark Lord pulled his eyes away from her. She pulled Rafe's head down a little to whisper to him. "Come on," she said, tugging on his hand. Wraith pulled him over to the edge of the forest, a good distance from the Dark Lord, and where it was nearly deserted. She giggled helplessly as she leaned against a tree. Rafe stood behind her, placing one hand on the trunk of the tree, and slipping the other around Wraith's waist. They watched the crowd together.   
  
"Something has changed," he whispered to her, his voice a little breathless, "You… are not the dark, yet virginal little princess I met two years ago."   
  
Wraith grinned wickedly, but did not reply.   
  
Rafe's lips brushed against her ear, "You move––and you dance––like someone who know what sex is. Someone who knows what  _good_  sex is."  
  
"You're crude," she retorted, turning her head to meet his eyes with a grin.   
  
His own grin widened, "But I'm also correct, aren't I?"   
  
Wraith smiled at him and turned her head away without saying anything.   
  
"But I'm also thinking," Rafe said, "that ¬He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did  _not_  have a hand in that."   
  
"Oh, you are sharp," Wraith said slowly.   
  
"Naughty girl," Rafe whispered, leaning forward to rest his chin on her shoulder and Wraith laughed.   
  
"The Dark Lord went away, for several months, hunting something," Wraith whispered, reaching a hand up to stroke Rafe's cheek, "While he was gone…I found a lover. When he found out…he was  _very_  unhappy with me."   
  
"Is  _that_  why he was so willing to offer you to me?"   
  
"I suppose he wanted me to spin my wiles around you instead of him," Wraith said lightly.   
  
"He doesn't realize you can do both?" Rafe asked darkly.   
  
"Apparently not," Wraith said, laughing again. She looked around the crowd, trying to spot where Harper was. She saw him dancing with a young werewolf and grinned. "Who is that?" she asked Rafe, gesturing to the pair.   
  
"Oh, that's Abby," Rafe replied.   
  
Wraith noted the sharp edge to his voice and turned her head slightly. "What is it?' she asked under her breath.   
  
"Nothing," Rafe said at first. Then he sighed. "She's our newest," he said, "She's sixteen––turned three years ago––by Greyback."   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed. "You don't like Greyback, do you?"   
  
"Why do you think he's not an actual member of my pack?" Rafe retorted.   
  
"Good for you," Wraith told him honestly. Her eyes drifted around the clearing again and her eyes narrowed when they fell upon where Remus Lupin was bound. "Hm," she murmured. Sometime during the evening, someone had blackened the man's eye.   
  
Something in Wraith went cold as she pulled away from Rafe to approach Lupin. Rafe followed her, frowning slightly for he had noticed her quick change of mood. Wraith reached Lupin and stood before him, looking down at him thoughtfully. The bound man seemed to be in a sort of meditative state, unknowing of his surroundings.   
  
"My Lord didn't say––why did you want him alive?"   
  
"We're going to give him a traitor's death," Rafe replied, coming up behind her. "At the next full moon, we'll bloody him and send him out into our forest––and when the change takes us, we'll hunt him down like a rabbit."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Why what?" Rafe asked, confused.   
  
"Why is he a traitor?"   
  
"He is a werewolf," Rafe said sharply, scowling down at Lupin, "but he did not accept it as he should have. Instead, he chose to live half a life, scraping by with what little the wizards deign to give those like us. He's pathetic."   
  
"Seems strange to kill a man simply for living."   
  
Rafe looked down at her and she glanced up at him. With a sigh, she shook her head.   
  
"Don't give me that look," she said, "He'd die anyway. He is my Lord's enemy, after all. I'm just saying…I'm not sure that I understand your reasons. Perhaps it is beyond me, seeing as I am not a werewolf."   
  
Rafe had no answer to give her. Wraith almost spoke again, to reassure him–– but she felt something brush against the corner of her mind, an awareness of something in the forest that wasn't supposed to be there. She lifted her eyes to the trees and the darkness beneath them.   
  
"I'll be right back," she said slowly. Without waiting for a reply or even looking at him, Wraith slipped away from Rafe and into the forest.   
  
Rafe watched her go, his mirth all but gone in the wake of their odd conversation. He scowled down at Lupin again and went to find a house-elf with wine. As he passed the Dark Lord's quasi-throne, he had to stop and blink at it––for it was empty. Rafe quickly looked over the crowd––but the Dark Lord had disappeared as effectively as his Wraith had.        
  
  
  
  
Wraith walked slowly through the deep forest, the music growing dimmer and dimmer the farther she went. She extended her senses, seeking out what she had felt before in the clearing. She laughed quietly to herself when she found more than a few lovers taking advantage of the dark, but she passed them by quietly and did not disturb them.   
  
It wasn't until she couldn't hear the music from the clearing at all that she finally found what she had been looking for. Wraith stopped in her tracks, staring at the figure up ahead.   
  
He sat on a fallen log several yards from her, twirling a wand idly in his fingers. He was terribly thin; with stone-grey hair and a straggling beard; his face akin to a corpse, and Wraith was disturbed to find that his appearance reminded her of herself after she had been taken from Azkaban. He was dressed in Muggle clothing, dark slacks and shirt, with a long and travel-worn trench coat. Perched on his head was a black driver's cap, hiding most of his face in shadow. He lifted his sunken eyes to meet hers––and he smiled. He stood up from the log and Wraith realized that he was only a little taller than she.   
  
 _Is this the person I saw from my window last week?_  She wondered silently as she considered him.   
  
He didn't speak, but also didn't seem to expect her to speak either. He continued to twirl the wind between his fingers, smiling all the while. Wraith acknowledged the puckish air around him and wondered what it was he wanted. Then she slowly smiled.   
  
"Grindelwald."   
  
The ancient wizard grinned at her and tipped his hat to her. Before Wraith could speak another word, he turned and Disapparated.   
  
Recognizing the taste of his magic, Wraith's suspicion as to his identity was confirmed.  _Well, that was interesting––but what did he want?_  
  
It seemed to Wraith that Grindelwald simply want to be  _seen_. For someone to recognize that he was haunting the grounds around the border of the Dark Lord's home. He was playing a game, and Wraith knew this well as she was playing one herself.   
  
 _Hm…do I tell the Dark Lord about this…or simply keep it to myself? What does Grindelwald want from me?_  Did he think she would run and tell Voldemort immediately? Or did he suspect that she did not reveal everything to him?   
  
Well, it was of no use to just stand there like a fool in the dark forest. With a sigh, almost one of disappointment, Wraith turned and started back to the clearing.   
  
She was nearly there when she felt someone grab her wrist and pull her back.   
  
"My Lord," she said evenly, looking up into the ire of Voldemort's eyes as he glared down at her.   
  
The Dark Lord released her, and then glanced around them as if to make sure they were alone. "…Considering how very insulted you were when I made the suggestion of offering you to Rafe, you seemed to change your mind rather quickly," he hissed softly at her.   
  
Wraith raised a delicate brow, smirking defiantly. "I never told you whether or not I'd made up my mind," she retorted.   
  
Voldemort scowled. "And have you now?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
Moving quickly, Wraith grabbed the front of Voldemort's robes and pulled him down into a fiery kiss. Her lips parted beneath his and her tongue darted into his mouth, teasing and inviting at the same time. She heard him mutter a curse under his breath and then he was kissing her in earnest, his arms twisting around her and pulling her closer.   
  
Wraith backed up a step until her back was pressed against the rough trunk of a tree. When she was certain that Voldemort was not going to let her go, she released her hold on his robes and instead twined her hands around the back of his neck. A low moan escaped her when his hand found the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. He tilted her head back to deepen the kiss, and Wraith felt almost as though he meant to devour her.   
  
A dark thrill of triumph went through her like a shiver throughout her entire body. She could taste the wine on his breath and the hunger so obvious in his touch. He bit her lip, making her gasp and she closed her teeth over his lower lip in revenge.   
  
At the soft sound of a branch cracking, they broke apart as suddenly as they had come together. Wraith quickly reached out with her power to see who had interrupted them––and then she laughed breathlessly.   
  
"A rabbit," she whispered, grinning. She was having trouble breathing and judging by his expression, so was Voldemort. He was looking down at her, a strange uncertainty in his eyes that she had never seen before. She touched his cheek and smiled darkly. "You took my breath," she accused him, her voice a soft murmur, "…Do it again."   
  
Voldemort grabbed her again, rather roughly, and was kissing her again. His mouth moved from her lips to her ear and the soft skin beneath it. Wraith's eyes fluttered in pleasure, though she could guess what was coming next. When his teeth closed over the edge of her ear, she laughed despite the sharp pain. Voldemort pulled back, but kept his hold on her. He was smiling now, a touch of blood at the corner of his lip.   
  
"Funny," Wraith scoffed at him, "Feel better now?"   
  
"Ask me later," he told her, leaning down to kiss her again.   
  
Wraith let one hand trail down his chest to where she could feel his heart beat under her palm. With a groan, Voldemort pulled back again, leaning one hand against the tree as if to steady himself.   
  
"This isn't the place," he said bitterly.   
  
"We would hardly be the only ones taking advantage of the dark," Wraith told him.   
  
"I believe you," the Dark Lord said, an edge of dark humor in his voice, "but all the same, I'll not have you here."   
  
"But you will have me," and she all but sang the words.   
  
"I didn't say that."   
  
"Not aloud," Wraith agreed, "but all the same…" She tilted her head up and let her lips trace the line of his jaw, "…you said it."   
  
"Rafe."   
  
The single name was enough to tame Wraith a moment. She sighed and fell back against the tree. "I've made up my mind," she said, "I'll play the game with him, the same as I do with Rabastan––But I'm not sleeping with him. I'll flirt, lead him on, let him think there's a chance––but you know full well that there  _is_  no chance." She smirked and tilted her head to one side. "If I do this right, I ought to be able to play him and Rabastan off of one another."   
  
Voldemort smirked and for the first time in weeks, looked very pleased with his Wraith.   
  
"You were watching me so intently that you probably missed Rabastan's reaction to my dance with Rafe," Wraith said, "But I saw from the corner of my eye…I've never seen anyone that furious, save for you." She laughed under her breath, stroking his cheek. "You liked watching me dance," she said softly, her tone playful, "I saw."   
  
"You see too much sometimes," Voldemort snarled, his voice low.   
  
"Will you dance with me too, Dark Lord?" Wraith asked him, grinning.   
  
"No," he told her firmly. But then he slowly smiled, "But I'll watch you."


	55. Darker Chord

_"But he did not understand the price. Mortals never do. They only see the prize, their heart's desire, their dream... But the price of getting what you want, is getting what you what you once wanted."_  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort and his Wraith slowly made their way back to the clearing, taking their time as they went. Wraith walked close to her Lord, but did not touch him again. When they reached the edge of the clearing, Voldemort stopped a moment to look back at her. His eyes were narrowed in thought as they swept over her face. Wraith gave him a small and satisfied smirk––but the expression was a great deal softer––warmer even––than he'd received from her in weeks. He offered his arm to her. She looked surprised, but quickly hid it as she set her hand gently upon his arm.   
  
The corner of Voldemort's mouth quirked up in a ghost of a smile as he led her back into the clearing and towards his quasi-throne. He sat and Wraith took a seat on the armrest beside him. Casting her eyes briefly over the crowd, she saw shock and amazement on several faces. Clearing very few people had expected the Dark Lord to forgive his Wraith for her crimes. Wraith turned her head, hiding a satisfied smile.   
  
A very nervous house-elf approached carrying a tray of wine glasses. Wraith could hear the glasses tinkling and realized that the elf was trembling the closer he got. She reached down and took two glasses from him, giving him a small wink as she did so. The elf smiled hesitantly and bowed his head to her before he continued making his rounds through the crowd.   
  
Wraith offered one of the glasses to Voldemort, smiling slightly. Voldemort took the glass, his fingers brushing hers in the motion.   
  
"It's been a good night, I think," Wraith said conversationally, "So far, anyway."   
  
"But has it been productive?" Voldemort asked, mostly speaking to himself as he looked over the clearing and those gathered there.   
  
"For some," Wraith replied, amused. Voldemort gave her a dry look and she smiled in response to it. "I've spent a great deal of time talking with the werewolf, Bartok. He's Rafe's third in command. He's taught me a great deal of the pack's infrastructure. And I've learned quite a bit about several of the wolves themselves."   
  
Her eyes drifted over to where Harper was laughing with Abby and Bartok at the side of the clearing. Voldemort saw the flash of pity in her eyes and followed her gaze.   
  
"Speak your mind, pet," he told her under his breath.   
  
"I don't like Greyback," she said softly. "I'd quite like to throw him in the deepest darkest hole available should we ever meet again."   
  
"He is useful," Voldemort said evenly.   
  
"He is a thug," Wraith retorted, "and there are other thugs to be had."   
  
"My honorable little pet," Voldemort murmured, looking up at her, "…You don't like that he targets children. That's the reason for your dislike, isn't it?"   
  
"Clever you, it is," Wraith replied, smirking at him. She leaned down, brushing her lips to his ear, "…and don't call me ' _pet_ '," she whispered. But despite her words, there was an edge of humor in her eyes as she pulled back. For just a moment, Wraith saw the same humor flash in Voldemort's eyes.   
  
"My Lady?"   
  
Wraith turned and smiled slightly at Rafe, as he bowed his head to her and Voldemort. "I wondered if I might beg one more dance of you, before Ze'eva sings?"   
  
"Certainly," Wraith replied, slipping off of the armrest and crossing to him.   
  
He grinned and offered his hand to her. Her smiled took on a darker edge as she placed her hand in his and let him lead her out towards the fire. Wraith glanced over her shoulder at Voldemort, a dark and playful gleam to her pale eyes. The Dark Lord tilted his head slightly to her, smiling just a little as he watched her.   
  
Rafe spun Wraith around before catching her in his arms. "Have you made up then?" he asked her in a whisper, leading the dance.   
  
"More or less," Wraith admitted, smirking.   
  
"Such a pity," Rafe said with a sigh.   
  
Wraith laughed at his put-on mournful air. "Oh, don't be so melodramatic, my wolf," she told him, "Who knows what the future holds, after all?"   
  
Rafe chuckled, "Hm, I like the sound of that."    
  
At the end of the song, Rafe led Wraith over to the edge of the clearing where the band was gathered. Harper and Abby were already waiting there, settled on the grass to listen. Wraith sat down beside Harper, touching a hand to his shoulder as she did so, and was unsurprised when Rafe took a seat on her other side. Wraith glanced at him with another smirk and settled back against the large oak tree they had gathered under.   
  
She leaned over to talk to Harper. "Having fun yet?" she asked him in a low voice.   
  
"Oh my, yes," Harper replied with a puckish grin. "And you, my Lady?" he asked, glancing meaningfully between Rafe and Voldemort.   
  
"You have no idea," Wraith whispered, smiling darkly.   
  
Ze'eva hurried over, pausing briefly to ruffle her brother's hair teasingly, before she went over to the band. They picked up their instruments once more, now grinning as they looked to Ze'eva for their lead. Around the clearing, those gathered there stopped talking and dancing so they could listen. Ze'eva fell right into a song, her deep voice echoing over the clearing like a siren.   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, swaying slightly to the music. The words of Ze'eva's song weren't English, but Wraith wasn't sure what they were. She looked to Rafe, who was also sitting back with his eyes closed, listening to the song. "Rafe," she said very softly. His eyes opened and he smiled slightly. "What is that your sister's singing?" she asked, "The language, I mean."   
  
"Gaelic," he replied.   
  
"I wondered," Wraith said, turning her eyes back to Ze'eva.   
  
Rafe tilted his head to the side, watching Wraith now rather than his sister. He leaned a little closer to her, inhaling the cool scent of her skin. Wraith turned her head to meet his eyes and raised an eyebrow at him. He grinned unabashedly, not moving back. Not taking his eyes from hers, Rafe slipped his hand around her arm and brushed his lips very lightly over the bare skin of her shoulder.   
  
"Tread carefully," Wraith whispered, barely moving her lips, "You're being watched."   
  
Rafe's grin widened as his eyes flickered over to where Voldemort sat. The Dark Lord's eyes were closed, one hand at his temple as if he were fighting a headache. Rafe brought his eyes back to Wraith's. "Do you object to a little worship, little goddess?" he murmured to her.   
  
"That's a new one," Wraith said dryly. Rafe raised a brow, matching hers, and waited. Wraith considered him a moment and then she too glanced at the Dark Lord. "No," she said at last, turning back to the werewolf, "I don't object."   
  
Rafe's smile went dark as he moved closer still. Keeping a loose hold on her arm, he brushed his lips over her shoulder again before moving over to where her shoulder met her neck. He never actually kissed her; it was simply those light soft brushes over her skin. Rafe's lips touched her ear and she smiled when he whispered to her. "Your scent is cool and sweet, a touch of otherworldly," he told her, "It's intriguing. You make me very… curious, Lady Wraith. I think I envy your Lord––for this is as close as I think I'll ever get."   
  
"Don't envy him," Wraith responded, her voice low as she stroked his cheek, "You don't know the price of me yet."   
  
Rafe chuckled under his breath and placed one lingering kiss just below her ear. He stayed there, his breath warm on her skin. Wraith closed her eyes a moment, enjoying the touch despite herself. It amazed her to think of how much Edwin's touch had healed her. A year ago, she wouldn't have been able to let anyone so near, save for the Dark Lord and even then she knew that her heart would have been tight with fear.   
  
Wraith opened her eyes––and met Voldemort's gaze dead on. The Dark Lord's expression was unreadable from across the clearing, but he was watching her very intently. Wraith let out a breath as if it had been pulled from her.   
  
"Enough," she murmured to Rafe.   
  
He turned his eyes, following her gaze, and then he pulled back, inclining his head slightly to Voldemort. Wraith wasn't sure if she imagined it when she saw the Dark Lord nod in return.    
  
Wraith turned her attention back to the music, closing her eyes again. The thrum of Ze'eva's song seemed to match the pulse of her heart. The mood that settled over her was dark and warm, giving her a satisfied glow of pleasure.   
  
The song drifted to an end and another began, with a brighter edge to it. Wraith felt Harper tap her shoulder and she reluctantly opened her eyes. Her vassal smiled at her and offered his hand. Shaking her head, but smiling, Wraith took his hand and allowed him to pull her up into another dance. When their dance was finished, Rafe arrived to steal her away again.   
  
The next hour passed in something of a blur, but Wraith felt as though she were simply biding her time, waiting for the next moment she would been alone with the Dark Lord again. It was almost as though she were holding her breath. Ze'eva kept the tempo of her music quick and energetic, inviting people to dance on and on.   
  
Once she had slipped out of Rafe's hands, Wraith went looking around the crowd for the first time in hours. She found who she was looking for almost immediately.   
  
"Draco," she called as she approached. Draco lifted his eyes to her quickly, blinking with surprise. "Draco, come and dance with me," Wraith said, holding out her hand.   
  
"I–I don't––" He stammered a moment until Wraith touched her hand to his lips, rolling her eyes.   
  
"I'm not going to bite you," she told him, "I just think that I ought to dance with someone besides Harper and Rafe. Come on," she urged, taking his hand, "It won't hurt your reputation or your family's for us to dance."   
  
Draco followed her lead, meek as a puppy, but he seemed very nervous to touch her, even as lightly as he did. Wraith kept the dance short for his sake, and she was grateful that he was willing to humor her despite his apprehension. She let him slip back into the crowd after the dance was done and she was unsurprised when Harper was at her side at once, carrying her into the next dance.   
  
In hopes to avoid Rafe for just a moment, Wraith declined the dance after that. She realized that she had not seen Rabastan since he had stalked off into the darkness during her first dance with Rafe. Curious, she cast out a little line of power, seeking him out.   
  
She found him several paces away from the clearing, slumped on the ground against a tree. He was snoring lightly as she knelt on the ground in front of him. Even from a few feet away, Wraith could smell the wine on his breath.   
  
"Poor Rabastan," she murmured, trying very hard not to laugh, "I suppose you won't get your dance tonight. Pity." Feeling rather sorry for him, even with her amusement, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead before she stood and left him there to sleep it off.   
  
When she reached the clearing again, she felt someone slip their arm around her waist. "Ze'eva," Wraith said with a smile, not turning around, "Are you done singing?"   
  
"I wanted to dance again," Ze'eva told her, "Speaking of which…shall we?"   
  
Wraith giggled, she couldn't help it, and she and Ze'eva hurried towards the fire.   
  
The almost calm mood that had settled over the crowd when Ze'eva had first begun to sing had utterly vanished. There was a wilder air now, a sense of complete abandon. Wraith breathed it in as she and Ze'eva twisted to the feral music that drifted over the clearing.   
  
"You…are very good at this," Ze'eva whispered, circling around Wraith smoothly.   
  
"Good at what?" Wraith asked with a laugh, turning in the werewolf's arms to face her again.   
  
"Teasing," Ze'eva replied, grinning. She spun Wraith around so that they faced the crowd and wrapped her arms over the shorter girl. "Look at him," Ze'eva said, jerking her head in the Dark Lord's direction, "He watches you like a hawk about to devour its prey," she whispered playfully. "But you…are no timid little mouse waiting to be devoured. You are a serpent, ready to bite back."   
  
Wraith laughed, "You are drunk on the wine, Ze'eva," she accused.   
  
"And  _you_  are drunk on the very air," Ze'eva countered. "He's so very hungry for you, isn't he?" she asked, drawing Wraith away from the fire and into the shadows of a tree to hide. "I have to ask, because curiosity demands––Is he good?"   
  
"I don't know," Wraith replied slowly, darkly, "––yet."   
  
Ze'eva giggled, "Hmm, but you've had the taste of each other, haven't you? And he wants more."   
  
"You're very observant for someone so intoxicated," Wraith commented lightly.   
  
"Well, you're not the only one with prey in her sights," Ze'eva confessed, "Nor are you the only one doing a little teasing. Look there."   
  
Wraith followed Ze'eva's gesture to where Bartok stood. The other werewolf quickly turned his eyes away when he realized he was being watched, but Wraith had seen the look in his eyes.   
  
"I'll have him tonight," Ze'eva whispered as if making a promise, "Within the hour if I can manage it. Provided all the good hiding places aren't taken. Haven't you noticed how many have slunk off into the shadows this past hour?"   
  
Wraith had, and she'd taken note of who had disappeared with whom.   
  
Ze'eva kissed Wraith's cheek and then danced away. "Wish me luck, Lady Death."   
  
"Good luck," Wraith murmured, smirking after her.   
  
"Where's my sister wandering off to?" Rafe asked, coming up beside her.   
  
"I  _really_  don't think you want to know," Wraith told him.   
  
"Oh, sweet moon," Rafe muttered under his breath. With a sigh, he leaned against the nearest tree and then smiled congenially at Wraith. "I don't suppose I could talk you into another dance?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.   
  
"I am very nearly exhausted," Wraith said, "Maybe after I've had a chance to rest." She tilted her head to one side, "So where did Ze'eva learn Gaelic?"   
  
"Our mother was Irish," Rafe replied, shrugging, "She's who Ze'eva learned to sing from. My father, on the other hand," he said, slipping a little closer, "was Spanish."   
  
"And did you learn his language as well?" Wraith asked, smirking up at him.   
  
"Oh, a handful of words," Rafe said. Wraith looked at him expectantly, tilting her head slightly to the side. Rafe rolled his eyes and then leaned closer to whisper to her. "… _Usted es pálido y encantador como la luna, con la naturaleza de cambio de la luna_."   
  
"Very pretty," Wraith said, "Now what did you say?"   
  
Rafe laughed at her suspicious tone. "I said––that you are as pale and lovely as the moon…with the moon's changeling nature."   
  
"Hm, pretty in English too," Wraith commented. She touched a hand to his chin and tilted her head up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."   
  
"Hm,  _de nada_ ," Rafe murmured. " _Puedo tener otro beso_?"  
  
"Translate," Wraith told him.  
  
"May I have another?"  
  
Wraith gave him a very dry look, but he smiled at her nonetheless.   
  
"Humor me, little goddess, you're breaking my heart tonight," he told her.   
  
Wraith sighed and moved closer. Rafe turned his cheek to her, but she took his chin in hand and turned his face so that their lips met.   
  
"There," Wraith murmured, pulling back, "Now you can claim you brushed lips with Death."  
  
Rafe smiled darkly at her and kissed the back of her hand before he turned and made his way through the crowd. Wraith watched him go, well satisfied with the exchange.  _What a piece you would make for my chess board, my wolf._    
  
"Lady Wraith."  
  
She turned slightly, smiling puckishly at Snape. "Severus," she replied, stepping over to where he stood. Her eyes flickered to the figure in the shadows beside him and her smile widened. "My Lord."  
  
"I trust you are enjoying yourself, pet?"  
  
"Of course, I am," Wraith said, sliding up beside him. "Now, would you  _stop_  calling me that?" she added in a murmur for his ears alone. She was rewarded by the Dark Lord's small smirk.   
  
Wraith stood between the two of them, placing a hand on Snape's arm as they watched the crowd. Snape glanced down at her hand and then at her face. She saw the touch of concern in his eyes before he quickly masked it, and she smiled softly at him. "So, you really won't dance?" she asked him.  
  
"Absolutely not," Snape replied.  
  
"Come on, I even got Draco to dance," Wraith said.   
  
"Draco is young and easily swayed," Snape said dryly, "I am not."  
  
"Spoilsport," Wraith muttered.   
  
"Yes, my Lady."  
  
Wraith laughed under her breath. She glanced over the crowd again and saw Harper waving from across the clearing. She frowned slightly and then realized that he wasn't trying to get her attention, but Snape's. A moment later, Snape noticed him and scowled.  
  
"Excuse me, my Lord, my Lady," he said, stepping away, "I'd best see what the boy wants before he hurts himself."   
  
Wraith waited until he had walked away before she quickly looked around. No one was paying her or the Dark Lord the least attention.  
  
"Ah," she murmured, "Here's the moment I've been looking for."  
  
"What moment?" Voldemort demanded, frowning at her.   
  
Wraith said nothing at first, stepping back into the shadow of the forest. She reached out to brush Voldemort's hand and whispered, "Come…while no one's looking."   
  
Voldemort glanced at her sharply––but then he too looked over the clearing and everyone there. Slowly, he took one step back––and then another, melting into the darkness with his Wraith. She smiled slowly in triumph, closing her hand around his and pulling him back further into the trees. Only when they were a good distance away did Wraith stop. Stepping up to a large tree with twisted roots, she stepped onto one of the roots and leaned back against the tree, watching Voldemort with eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dark.   
  
The Dark Lord approached slowly, neither one of them speaking as they drew closer. Standing on the root, as she had intended, their eyes were level with one another. He slipped his arms around her waist and pressed her back against the tree. Wraith slid her hands up his arms until they came to rest on his shoulders. She put one hand behind his head, her lips slightly parted.   
  
"Have you missed me?" she asked him, their lips brushing just slightly.  
  
"Now and again," Voldemort replied.  
  
Wraith started to laugh, but then Voldemort covered her mouth with his, stealing her breath. One kiss bled into another until they were both breathless. Wraith couldn't seem hold him tight enough, kiss him hard enough to satisfy herself. Voldemort slid one hand down her side and then her thigh, making her leg curl slightly around him as he pressed himself against her. He pinned her against the tree so that she could not move, but then she did not try.   
  
Voldemort pulled back slightly to see her face as he slipped his hands under her. Wraith smiled darkly, biting her lip as he lifted her up. She hiked the skirt of her dress high so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. Voldemort ran his hand up her exposed thigh, glancing down to see the pale stockings and white garter belt there. When he brought his eyes back to hers, she smirked and raised a brow. Voldemort smiled slightly as he took her mouth with his again. One hand skimmed over her breast briefly before traveling to her back to loosen the lacing of her dress. Voldemort released her mouth to kiss the space just beneath her ear. He wrapped his hand around her throat, still covered by the black beads.   
  
"Get this off," he told her, his voice rough.  
  
Wraith reached up and unclasped the necklace, pulling it from her neck and tossing it carelessly to the side. In the same gesture, she also touched a fingertip to the thin golden chain hidden beneath her dress. It disappeared, sent safely back to her tower. It wouldn't do to have the Dark Lord discover her secret at that moment.   
  
She moaned as his teeth gazed her throat, sending little sparks of pain through the heat of her blood. Her nails drew little lines on the skin of his neck when he bit down sharply. His mouth drifted down to the base of her throat as his hand worked to loosen the top of her dress. Wraith trembled against him when he finally managed to pull her dress down enough to expose her breasts to the night air.   
  
"Oh," Wraith breathed as Voldemort's mouth closed around one. He used his teeth and tongue, he was not gentle. Wraith felt something in her tighten deliciously, her breath coming in short little gasps as he moved to her other breast. Her legs tightened around him and she arched her back slightly, inviting him to take more.   
  
"Damn," Voldemort muttered, pausing to catch his breath, resting his head at the crook of her neck. "Goddamn it. So much for my blessed self-control." His grip on her loosened just slightly and Wraith felt her temper snap at the thought that he might back down.  
  
"Will it hurt your pride so much to take something you want?" she demanded of him. He lifted his face to look at her and she brought her lips to his, silencing whatever he had planned to say. "Take it," she hissed at him, "Damn you, just  _take_  it. You want to, I know you do." She took his face in her hands, her breath catching. "Voldemort––" she whispered his name, making his eyes widen at her daring, "––don't you  _dare_ stop now."  
  
Voldemort lunged forward, kissing her deeply, his control all but shattered. Wraith felt the rough bark of the tree scrap at her skin, but the pain was only one more sensation she was being bombarded with. The pair of them fell away from the tree and Voldemort laid her on the grass beneath it, between the roots. His hands were everywhere and it was difficult for her to gain any ground against him. She lifted herself up, trailing her mouth along his throat, using her teeth just as he had used his. Voldemort groaned despite himself and pushed her roughly against the ground, looming over her in the dark.   
  
Wraith reached for him, her lips twisted in a dark and exultant little smile. But then with a hiss of breath, she sat up, pushing him aside.   
  
"What are you doing?" Voldemort demanded.   
  
"Something's coming," she snapped at him, her eyes scanning the darkness.   
  
Voldemort felt his temper with her subside, though it burned brightly towards whatever had interrupted. "…What is it?"  
  
A moment later, Wraith's power gave her the answer. "God _damn_  it!" she snarled, quickly moving to dress herself again. "––A large group of people have Apparated to the borders of the Manor!" she told him, lacing her dress with magic rather than trying it with her shaking hands. "They're coming! They've probably come for Lupin!"  
  
Voldemort cursed as he quickly got to his feet. He grabbed Wraith's arm and helped her to stand. He met her eyes and he saw the flash of regret in them before she smothered it. With another curse, he turned and ran back towards the clearing and Wraith followed as quickly as her feet would carry her.


	56. Bullet

_"If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?"_  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort and Wraith quickly returned to the clearing. The Dark Lord strode to the center of the clearing beside the bonfire and lifted his hand, holding up his wand. He sent red sparks into the sky with a  _bang_  and everyone in the clearing fell silent, the music suddenly cutting off.   
  
Everyone there turned in surprise and not just a little fear to regard Voldemort and his Wraith with wary eyes. Voldemort gestured to his Wraith and she offered her arm to him. He touched one finger to the Dark Mark on her skin. She did not wince at the burning pain, but saw many of her fellow Death Eaters do so as the information Voldemort sent out silently reached them.   
  
Rafe quickly approached them. "What is happening?" he demanded swiftly.   
  
"We are being attacked," Voldemort told him. "Call in your wolves; we must prepare before they reach us here."   
  
Rafe scowled, but he threw back his head. An inhuman howl echoed from his throat, cutting across the forest like a subtle knife. Wraith watched as several wolves came back to the clearing, emerging from the shadows of the trees. Her eyes lit to where Ze'eva and Bartok appeared. Bartok had lost his shirt and Ze'eva's vest was open; she seemed unconcerned with her partial nudity though. Ze'eva stalked towards her brother, her face twisted in a deep scowl of her own. "What is it?" she asked, looking between Rafe and Voldemort.   
  
"Members of the Order have arrived," Wraith said, "They've come to rescue Lupin."   
  
"As such, our first priority is to remove him," Voldemort said.   
  
"Right," Rafe said. He turned to Bartok and Ze'eva, snapping his fingers, "Take him."   
  
Ze'eva looked very ready to argue, not wanting to leave the coming fight, but Bartok put a heavy hand on her shoulder and all but dragged her away to where Lupin was.   
  
"They'll need assistance," Rafe told the Dark Lord.   
  
Voldemort nodded. "Rodolphus, Rabastan!"   
  
Rodolphus appeared, his wife at his side, and bowed his head to the Dark Lord. Voldemort sneered, looking around the clearing. "Where is your brother?" he demanded of Rodolphus.   
  
"In a drunken stupor," Wraith told him scathingly. She looked around and met Harper's eyes. "Harper," she said sharply, "Help them."   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Harper said quickly. He and Rodolphus crossed to where Ze'eva and Bartok waited. Rodolphus and Bartok lifted Lupin, still bound to the cross, and carted him off into the forest, with Ze'eva and Harper following, to Apparate away from the Manor.   
  
Wraith looked around the clearing again and then closed her eyes. "They're almost here," she said softly to Voldemort.   
  
"How did they find us?" he asked in an undertone. "We double and tripled the protective enchantments around the Manor when McGonagall and the others escaped."   
  
"I'll find out," Wraith promised him. She scowled down at her dress and took the blade she wore at her waist in hand. Kneeling, she slit the sides of her skirt from thigh to ankle on both sides. She would have to be able to move and she needed her magic for the fight. Standing again, she met the Dark Lord's eyes. "Shall I?" she asked him.   
  
"Do it."   
  
She strode around the fire, facing the direction that the intruders were coming from. "Everyone should shield their eyes," she called out.   
  
Kneeling down, she placed her palm flat on the earth and watched the shadows in the forest. Above in the sky, she felt a coming storm and sent a spark of magic out to bring it faster. Clouds boiled over the once clear sky above the clearing and Wraith dimly heard several people gasp at the sight.   
  
The fire behind Wraith suddenly flared up, twisting into a column that reached up towards the sky. In the bright flash of light, Wraith saw the approaching trespassers through the trees. Her eyes locked onto the person in the center, who had lifted an arm to shield his eyes from the sudden light. " _Potter_ ," Wraith hissed softly.   
  
She thrust her power into the ground, sending tremors through the earth beneath their feet. As they stumbled and fell, the bonfire that flared so brightly behind Wraith suddenly went out. In the full darkness that fell, Wraith darted forward, silent as the wraith she was named. In her wake, she heard the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters and the werewolves surge forward as well, meeting their foes in the darkness of the forest.   
  
Wraith reached out a hand in the shadow and touched the shoulder of one of the Order. The witch gasped as a cold shiver ran down her spine, but before she could react, she fell to the ground, unconscious. Wraith picked her way through the crowd, realizing that the Order's numbers had grown again. There must have been at least twenty people there in the forest, come for Lupin. She thinned the numbers as best she could and she dropped at least seven or eight of them right off the bat. Then her eyes fell upon a familiar face among the rest.   
  
She came up behind him, grabbing him by the collar of his cloak and pulling him away from the rest. Sounds of battle filled the forest, but Wraith spoke softly nonetheless. "Evening, Neville."   
  
Neville Longbottom stopped fighting her hold, momentarily frozen with shock. "The Wraith," he whispered.   
  
"Right on the mark, little friend," Wraith told him, throwing him back. He stumbled, but spun around to face her, wand out. "How did you find us?" Wraith asked him, her voice low.   
  
"Like I'm going to just tell you," Neville spat.   
  
Wraith sighed impatiently and suddenly she was behind him. She grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. Neville cried out and tried to fight, but with her magic behind her, he could not shake her loose. Once more, he froze––feeling the cold blade of a knife at his throat.   
  
"This is kind of important, Neville," Wraith hissed in his ear, " _How did you find us_?"   
  
"A-a letter came," Neville gasped out, "Anonymous. It gave the location, told us that Lupin was being held here."   
  
Wraith blinked and then she smiled slowly as a suspicion came to her. "Why that clever twisted old bastard," she whispered.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Never-you-mind," Wraith told him. She sheathed her dagger and pushed Neville forward. He fell to the ground, but twisted to see her at once. "Keep your head down, Neville dear," Wraith said, smirking, "There are others who will be quicker to kill you than I."   
  
With that last smirk, she was gone. Neville scrambled to his feet, unnerved, to rejoin the fight.   
  
Wraith moved through the battle again, but almost at once she felt a curse hit her from behind. Spinning around, she faced a young woman, with fire-red hair pulled back into a braid. Wraith smiled wickedly at her as the woman paled dangerously when she realized who she had attacked.   
  
"Good try," Wraith told her slyly, "Not much good against me though."   
  
The witch raised her wand again defensively but Wraith moved towards her like smoke and she felt one cold hand touch her shoulder. The witch crumpled to the ground.   
  
"GINNY!"   
  
Wraith turned at the shout, recognizing Potter's voice. The anguish and anger in his shout told Wraith all she needed to know about how important the witch was to him.   
  
Harry surged forward through the other combatants, fumbling for something in his cloak. Wraith's eyes narrowed as he brought out the pistol she'd seen him with at Hogwarts. He pulled the trigger at once, but the bullet missed her by a meter. He shot again and Wraith only stopped the bullet from hitting her by putting up an iridescent shield between them. She twisted around Harry just as he reached her. He spun, pointing the gun at her head, but she grabbed his wrist and pulled it down just in time for the bullet to graze her shoulder instead of ending up between her eyes.   
  
"You're getting faster," Wraith said, a little breathless, "Good for you––hesitation gets you nowhere." She pushed him backwards, making him falter.   
  
He brought the gun up again, but it crumbled to dust in his hands. Eyes wide with sudden fear, he pointed his wand at her, though he knew it was useless. Wraith took one step towards him, still unsure of what to do with him. If she rendered him unconscious like she had the others, then it was all the more likely that Voldemort would capture him. Wraith wasn't all that certain she wanted her Lord to have that particular victory. But what else could she do? She reached out a hand towards him, but before she could call on her power, she felt a searing pain in her abdomen that spread throughout her chest.   
  
She choked on her breath and looked down. The bullet hole at her stomach was bleeding copiously for such a small wound, pouring over the black and green of her dress.   
  
In shock, she lifted glazed eyes to Harry's and opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. He looked just as confused as she at first, but then he glanced over his shoulder. His mouth set in a thin line, he nodded to someone there. Wraith looked, following his gaze to where a tall red-haired man with a heavily scarred face stood with a rifle, yards away from where them. Wraith brought her eyes back to Harry as he turned back to her. He looked firm, but Wraith saw the trace of horror in his eyes.   
  
The pain took Wraith and she fell forward onto her knees, one hand clutching her stomach. The scarred man hurried over, lifting the rifle in his hands to point at her. But his hands were shaking. Wraith lifted her face to look at him. She coughed, blood bubbling to her lips.   
  
Her power would not come to her call. She had no defense. A soft sort of resignation came to her face, easy for Harry and the stranger to read.  _Go ahead, do it_ , her eyes seemed to tell them. She closed her eyes, bowing her head.   
  
The pain was terrible. The bullet had ricocheted inside of her, ripping her insides apart. Wraith didn't understand why it didn't seem to be fading. Shouldn't she be healing? She choked on the blood in her mouth and she fell forward, lying on her side on the grass before them.   
  
"… _Do it_ ," she whispered, barely audible, "…just…do it."   
  
The scarred man swallowed, but he steadied his hands and tilted the gun down to point at her again. Before he could pull the trigger, he was knocked back several feet by a powerful curse.   
  
"Bill!"   
  
Harry had a moment to look into Snape's black eyes before the same curse hit him, throwing him backwards.   
  
Snape knelt by Wraith, keeping his eyes on Harry and Bill Weasley. He cast a shield charm to cover him and Wraith as the two climbed back to their feet. Harry frowned at the man he so hated, struck by how he protected Wraith as she had protected him all those months ago at Hogwarts.   
  
"Wraith," Snape said out of the corner of his mouth. "Can you stand?"   
  
Wraith moved slightly, but a high and terrible cry of pain tore from her lips. Snape's eyes widened as he turned sharply to look at her. "S-sev," she whispered breathlessly, "The b-bullet…didn't…pass through…I…I think i-it's caught at my spine…"   
  
Snape breathed a curse, a sense of helplessness coming over him.   
  
Wraith bit back another cry of pain as she twisted enough to pull her dagger from its sheath and throw it on the ground beside her. " _Get…it…out_ ," she hissed.   
  
Snape stared at her in horror, but he took up the dagger nonetheless. With a sharp look at where Harry and Bill stood as if waiting, Snape moved around to crouch behind Wraith. He held his wand in his left hand, keeping the shield up, as with his right hand, he cut a thin line at the back of Wraith's dress. There was a deep bruise just at her spine at the small of her back. Cursing fervently, Snape drew another line with dagger––this time on her skin. Wraith barely felt it in comparison with the pain of the trapped bullet. She gritted her teeth, but couldn't help but cry out as Snape reached into the cut he had made to get the bullet.   
  
Snape's face was twisted and he fought not to close his eyes as her warm blood stained his hand. Finally, his fingers closed over the mashed bullet just as the side of her spine. Wraith all but screamed when he had to forcefully pull it free. She lay gasping there on the ground and as Snape watched, both the wound he had made and the deep bruise faded from sight.   
  
Her skin pale and unbroken once more, Wraith pushed herself up from the ground, her eyes immediately locking onto the scarred man who had shot her. An almost feline growl escaped her lips and before Snape could stop her, she surged forward, moving faster than his eyes could follow.   
  
Bill's eyes widened fearfully and he turned to run, but then something hit him from the side, knocking him down. Rafe growled down at him, pressing him against the ground, his face twisted in a shadow of his inner wolf. Bill struggled, managing to bring his wand up. Rafe was thrown off of him with a quick spell, but before Bill could stand, every scar on his face opened like fresh wounds. He screamed in pain, bringing his hands up to cover his face.   
  
Blinking away blood from his eyes, he saw the Wraith coming towards him, her face a cold and furious mask. He reached blindly for the rifle he had dropped when Rafe had tackled him, but as his hand closed around it, it broke into pieces.   
  
Wraith snarled at him as she knelt, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. Bringing his face close to hers, she hissed, "If you lot keep using those things on me––I'll start bloody  _killing_  you instead of just knocking you out. Do you understand me?"   
  
Without waiting for an answer, she clenched her hand into a fist and hit him squarely on the cheek. Bill slumped to the ground, unconscious, and Wraith climbed to her feet, leaving him where he lay. She went to where Rafe was slowly sitting up, holding his aching head in his hands. He was cursing in Spanish under his breath, but the curses cut off when Wraith knelt before him.   
  
"My wolf," she all but cooed, taking his face in her hands, "Thank you." She kissed his forehead and the pain caused by Bill's curse was suddenly gone. Rafe grinned at her as she stood and turned away.  
  
Wraith immediately went looking for where Potter had disappeared to. The battle had thinned, the ground beneath the tress littered with the fallen forms of Death Eaters, werewolves, and Order members.   
  
Wraith turned at a bright flash of red light, just in time to see Snape thrown back against a tree, slamming into it.   
  
" _Severus_!" Wraith screamed as she ran to where he had fallen. She knelt beside him and helped him to sit up. Snape winced and put a hand to his head. There was a line of blood at the corner of his mouth. Wraith touched his face, looking for injuries.   
  
"I'm fine," Snape said sharply. He turned with a scowl towards his opponent. Wraith followed his gaze and her eyes narrowed when she saw McGonagall.   
  
The witch stopped in her tracks when she saw the Wraith beside Snape. Wraith slowly got to her feet, taking Snape's hand to pull him up as well. "Minerva," she said placidly.   
  
"Wraith," McGonagall replied softly. There was something in the witch's eyes––something that was almost sympathy. Wraith frowned slightly at her, curiosity driving her to search McGonagall's mind. She felt a sting in her heart when she saw what prompted the hint of sympathy in the woman.   
  
 _She knows…she knows about Edwin and I… Oh, god_ … Wraith let out a sharp breath and took a step back, standing behind Snape rather than beside him.   
  
Snape glanced at her, wondering about the sudden alarm in her eyes.   
  
"She knows," Wraith said softly, not taking her eyes from McGonagall.   
  
Snape looked sharply at McGonagall, his eyes narrowed dangerously. He lifted his wand, holding out his other arm as if to shield Wraith. "…Your silence is the only thing keeping you alive, Minerva," he said, his voice low.   
  
McGonagall stiffened, lifting her head proudly. "Don't bother me with vague threats, Severus," she said sharply. "They are of no use."   
  
"He'd kill me," Wraith whispered.   
  
McGonagall's hard expression softened only slightly. "Why are you here?" she demanded harshly, "I can only suspect that you were playing with him––that what he felt for you was more than what you did for him."   
  
" _Don't_!" Wraith told her swiftly, "…Don't you dare," she added more softly. "You know  _nothing_  about me. Don't assume to guess at my motives." She lashed out with her power before McGonagall could speak again.   
  
With a startled gasp, McGonagall crumpled to the ground and did not move.   
  
Snape edged forward and prodded the unconscious woman with his foot, sneering at her. He sighed and looked to where Wraith still stood. "Get a hold of yourself," he told her firmly. "We knew that some of the Order had discovered your secret."   
  
"But  _McGonagall_ ," Wraith said, shaking her head. "Bloody  _hell_ , Sev."   
  
"I know," Snape said. "But what's done is done, child. If she hasn't said anything yet, then it's likely she won't. Out of concern for the boy if not for you."   
  
Wraith slowly nodded and turned away. "Come," she said, "I still need to find Potter again."     
  
The two of them moved quickly, following the sounds of further battle. Wraith caught sight of the Dark Lord dueling with Kingsley and another red-haired man that she did not know.   
  
"Is that  _another_  Weasley?" she asked Snape in an undertone.   
  
"They have seven children," he replied dryly.   
  
"Huh," Wraith said, raising an eyebrow. "Which one is that?"   
  
"That is Arthur Weasley," Snape said, "Their father."   
  
Wraith's eyes sharpened when she saw Potter running towards the duel between the three wizards. She rushed forward, catching him by the arm and throwing him off course.   
  
Harry's back hit a tree with a thump and he quickly brought his wand up to defend himself. "Where's Lupin?" he demanded when their eyes met.   
  
"Already gone," Wraith told him.   
  
"No!" Harry shouted.   
  
"The wolves took him when I felt you coming."   
  
Bewilderment and fear ran across Harry's face. "You… _felt_  us coming?"   
  
Wraith smirked and tapped a finger to her temple. "You can't hide from me, Potter. No one can."   
  
Harry's face hardened and he slashed his wand through the air. " _Diffindo_!"   
  
The spell, of course, had no effect on Wraith––but it successfully severed the chain of the locket around her neck. Wraith scrambled to catch the locket in her hand before it could fall to the ground. Just as it hit her palm, Harry launched himself forward, tackling her to the ground. Wraith twisted, keeping a tight grip on the locket as Harry desperately tried to take it from her.   
  
"No!" Wraith cried when he managed to loosen her grip slightly. With a surge of power from her, Harry was flung back. Wraith scrambled to her feet, holding up a hand to stop him from reaching her again. "You will not have it," she hissed at him.   
  
Harry glared at her, but he was unable to move at attack again. As she glared at him in return, she felt the locket in her hand  _pulse_.   
  
Startled, Wraith looked down at it––and then she lifted her eyes back to Harry. Her odd broken eyes were wide with shock as they gazed at him, drifting from his eyes to his forehead and the scar there. With a sharp gesture, she undid the spell on him that kept him still. Then she vanished utterly, the locket with her.   
  
Harry looked around quickly, more than half expecting her to reappear behind him and attack. But she was gone. With a curse, Harry lifted his wand in the air and sent out gold sparks that showered over the fight. It was the signal to retreat. He ran to where Ginny still lay unconscious. He took her hand and Disapparated the both of them away.   
  
All around the forest, those of the Order grabbed as many of their fallen as they could and disappeared before the Death Eaters or wolves could stop them. Voldemort screamed a curse as his foes disappeared before his eyes.   
  
A moment later, Wraith appeared at his side, silent as the grave and her mouth set in a thin line. In the aftermath of the battle, the Death Eaters were delighted to find that they had prisoners––There had been more fallen than standing and not everyone had been rescued. Wraith saw that both Arthur and Bill Weasley were among them.   
  
Voldemort spent a few minutes speaking quietly with Rafe before he approached his Wraith. "Can you lay further protection around the borders?" he asked her bluntly.   
  
"Yes," Wraith told him swiftly. "I'll make sure we are not found again, my Lord."   
  
"Did you find out how they found us in the first place?"   
  
"I did, in a manner of speaking," she replied. "They received a tip, my Lord, an anonymous letter." She bowed her head, thinking quickly. "My Lord…during the battle, I thought I sensed something at the borders, a lingering taste of magic. I recognized it, but not until it was too late."   
  
"Go on," Voldemort told her.   
  
"It was the same magic that broke the tomb of Albus Dumbledore," Wraith said softly.   
  
Voldemort drew in a hissing breath and turned from her in a swift motion. "Get back to the Manor," he ordered, "Await me there. I must speak further with Rafe."   
  
"As you wish, my Lord," Wraith said, her voice low.


	57. Cold Dawn

_"Lies and half-truths fall like snow, covering the things that I remember, the things I saw. A landscape, unrecognizable after a snowfall; that is that she has made of my life."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith was the last to return to the Manor. She had gone out to the borders and laid her own magicks along those that the Dark Lord had already set. She found no further trace of Grindelwald's presence, though she had half hoped that she would. She walked slowly through the woods, passing through the clearing that still held the remnants of the great bonfire in the center. She knew that she would look back on the night as a victory, but it was laced with bitterness nonetheless. Wraith touched a hand to her belly, where the bullet had ripped her apart. Her dress was still stained with her own blood, but it was very nearly dry by that time.   
  
With an almost irritated sigh, she trekked back up to the Manor where the others would be gathered, recuperating from the battle and the injuries wrought by it. She was passing by the Rose Maze when she felt something brush her arm. Wraith turned quickly, tensed for anything, but when she saw the Dark Lord, she relaxed. "My Lord," she said, almost sighing, "I've added to the Manor's protections, as you asked."   
  
"Well done," he said, evenly.   
  
Wraith considered him, turning to face him fully. "Is there something you wanted to speak of?" she asked him, "I'll assume so, or you would have been with the others inside."   
  
"You were shot again."   
  
Wraith glanced down at her ruined dress, scowling slightly. "Yes, my Lord," she said, "One of the Weasleys had a rifle."   
  
"A rifle?"   
  
Wraith smirked rather bitterly. "I've been doing a little research on Muggle weapons," she told him. She lowered her eyes to the ground. "It was a closer call tonight than I would have liked," she admitted softly. "Severus saved my life," she added, looking at him again.   
  
"Did he now?" Voldemort said softly.   
  
"He did, above and beyond the service he had done me before. ––The bullet didn't pass through," Wraith said tersely, "It got caught at my spine and I couldn't heal properly." She reached out and took Voldemort's hand, pulling it around her. She pressed his hand to where the bullet had gotten trapped. She felt the Dark Lord gently caress the skin beneath the cut Snape had had to make in her dress. "He used my knife, cut open my skin and pulled the bullet out."   
  
Voldemort let out a heated breath. "That explains the blood I saw on his hands. You are healed now?"   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith said softly. With his hand still at her back, Wraith leaned forward, resting her head against his shoulder. She breathed deeply, suddenly feeling very tired. "Well, you can't claim this night wasn't interesting," she said dryly.   
  
"Certainly not," Voldemort replied, his voice just as dry as hers. "Come," he said, "Let us go inside."   
  
Wraith nodded and pulled back from him. She followed in his shadow as they entered the great doors of the Manor. There was the soft murmur of voices coming from the drawing room and Wraith was unsurprised to see most of the Death Eaters gathered there, tending their wounds.   
  
Her eyes found Snape's across the room and she crossed to him immediately. Sitting beside him on the short couch, she curled her legs beneath her and laid her head against the back of the couch. "Are you alright?' she asked him softly.   
  
"Perfectly fine," he replied, glancing at her. "And you?"   
  
"I am tired," Wraith confessed. "…You weren't wearing your cloak."   
  
"I did not want the Dark Lord to question it," Snape said, his voice low.   
  
"Wear it from now on," Wraith told him firmly, "You can tell him that I rewarded you with it for saving my life tonight."   
  
"You told him?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith said shortly. When Snape looked at her with sharp eyes, she replied with an arched look of her own. Snape rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and Wraith smirked, laying her head down again.   
  
She reached out and took one of Snape's hands in hers, seeing blood staining the lines of his palm. "Couldn't remove it with magic, could you?" she asked him, smirking.   
  
"No," Snape said, "I'll assume that it's because the blood is yours."   
  
"You would be correct," Wraith told him. She sat up straight and took his other hand as well. She passed her hand over each of his and he was grateful to see the blood disappear.   
  
Wraith released his hands and folded her own in her lap. She closed her eyes, drifting into a quiet meditative state and opening her ears to the other conversations around the room. The Dark Lord was delivering a rather scathing dressing-down to Rabastan, who had woken in the middle of the battle and had been taken out with a stunning curse only minutes later.   
  
The wolves had left the Manor grounds once the battle had finished, but Wraith had half-expected Rafe to remain. She was almost disappointed. Playing with him had been fun, a rather darker version of the courtly game Harper loved to play with her.   
  
As if her thoughts had summoned him, Harper appeared in the doorway with Rodolphus. The young Death Eater's eyes found her at once and he paled. Wraith assumed because of the blood still staining her dress. He crossed the room quickly and knelt to the side of the couch. "My Lady," he said, his voice low.   
  
"I'm alright, Antony," she told him softly. "No lasting harm, I promise."   
  
Snape glanced at the two of them and saw the flash of calculation in the girl's eyes.   
  
Wraith reached out her hand and patted Harper on the head, making him grin, but her eyes were on the Dark Lord. Satisfied that he was well distracted with Rabastan, she slid off the couch and up onto her feet. "Come, Harper," she said, looking down at him, "I've tired of the crowd."   
  
She glanced at Snape and saw the way his eyes narrowed. He knew better than to ask what she was up to, especially in a room full of people, but she saw the question in his eyes. She gave him one last twisted little smile before she and Harper left the room.      
  
  
  
  
"Quickly, Antony," Wraith whispered sharply.   
  
Harper followed her fast-paced steps, unsurprised when she led him down to the dungeons. He closed the heavy door behind them and then hurried down the stone steps after her.   
  
Wraith paused at the bottom of the stairs, closing her eyes. Harper felt the slightest chill caress his skin as if a ghost had just brushed past him. Was that the touch of the Wraith's power he felt––or was it simply nerves? He shook himself as Wraith stepped forward into the dungeon, pausing briefly before each cell until she came to the one that held Bill Weasley.   
  
Wraith touched a hand to the bars and gazed down at the fallen man. His face was still covered in his own blood, the wounds bleeding sluggishly in the cold air of the dungeon. As she looked at him, he stirred and slowly opened his eyes to see her.   
  
"I am very tempted to leave you just as you are, Bill Weasley," Wraith told him, her words slow and deliberate.   
  
Bill heaved himself up into a sitting position and looked at her with wary eyes. "I'm afraid I don't catch your meaning," he told her. He winced slightly when his speaking stretched the wounds.   
  
"Where did you get the scars that I reopened?" Wraith asked him, tilting her head to one side, her face still unfathomable.   
  
"A werewolf," Bill said shortly, "Greyback."   
  
"But you are not a werewolf yourself," Wraith commented lightly.   
  
Her calm and almost sweet tone grated on Bill's already frayed nerves. "He wasn't changed at the time," he said tersely. "What do you want?" he demanded.   
  
Harper came up behind Wraith, giving Bill a narrowed look. "My Lady?"   
  
"Open his cage, Antony," Wraith murmured, not taking her eyes off of Bill.   
  
Harper stepped forward and took a ring of keys from the pocket of his cloak. He unlocked the cell door, his eyes sharp on Bill as he did so. Then he stepped back once more, allowing Wraith to move into his place. She slipped into the cell and closed the door behind her.   
  
Bill scrambled back towards the wall, his hand aching to have his wand. Wraith knelt before him, tilting her head to the side like a curious child. Bill pressed his back against the wall as hard as he could.   
  
"Stop squirming," Wraith told him scathingly.   
  
Bill blinked at her, for the tone of her voice had just brought his mother to mind and that unnerved him. He froze, looking dazedly at her. She reached out a hand and he couldn't help but flinch. Wraith gave him an arched look that had his insides squirming with embarrassment. Very gently, she laid her fingertips along each wound she had reopened upon his face. She did not heal them outright, but she set the healing in motion, making certain that they would heal faster than they would otherwise.   
  
By the time she stood and turned away from him, he could feel that they were already half-healed and well on their way to becoming scars again. "…Why?" he asked as the door closed behind her again.   
  
Wraith turned, looking at him through the bars once more. "Because I can," she told him plainly. With Harper in her shadow, she started away. She hadn't gotten far when she felt someone grab her by the arm. She spun quickly, her eyes narrowed dangerously and her power flaring around her.   
  
It was Arthur Weasley reaching out through the bars of his cell that had grabbed her. His face was pale, covered in a sheen of sweat and fear. His glasses were broken, both lenses fractured from the battle. Wraith considered him carefully, not even trying to pull herself free of his hold. "…Did you murder Ginny?" he asked her tersely, his voice shaking, "Did you kill my daughter?"   
  
"No," Wraith replied softly, "I did not. I simply rendered her unconscious, as I did your eldest son," she added, with a glance back at Bill's cell. She met Arthur Weasley's eyes squarely. "…I only kill when my Lord directly orders me to. And he neglected to give that order this night. Feel fortunate, Arthur Weasley––because you truly are."   
  
While he absorbed the fact that his youngest child––his daughter was alive, Wraith pulled free of his grasp––but she did not walk away. With a sigh, she held out her hand. "Your glasses," she said shortly.   
  
Arthur frowned at her, but a moment later he caught her meaning. He slipped the broken glasses off and placed them gingerly in her outstretched hand. Wraith's hand closed around them briefly and then she offered them back to Arthur. He blinked at them as he took the glasses back. They were fixed.   
  
Putting them back on, he looked at her, just as befuddled as his son had been. "I can't figure you, young lady."   
  
Wraith smirked, just slightly. "Make no mistake, Arthur Weasley," she told him, "I am not on your side. For all that I am called the Lady Death––I consider it my job to keep you alive while you are here. But don't ever press my hospitality." Before Arthur could respond, she had walked away, taking Harper with her.   
  
When the prisoners heard the door at the top of the stairs open and close, Arthur called out. "Bill?"   
  
"I'm fine, Dad," Bill called back, sounding as surprised as his father felt. "She's healed the wounds she'd caused," he added, his shock and confusion showing in his voice.   
  
"Huh…I just…I don't  _get_  it," Arthur murmured.   
  
"She's hard to get," came a voice from the cell next to his.   
  
"Hestia?" Arthur said, moving to the edge of his own cell, "Hestia Jones, is that you? You're alive?"   
  
"I'm alive," Hestia told him, sounding very tired, but quite alive, "And so are all of the others that she captured. She's kept us healthy, Arthur, kept us alive for reasons she won't quite explain."   
  
"Come now, Hestia, she said the words," came another voice from further in the dungeon. "She'll have no more blood on her hands; those were her words."   
  
"Professor Slughorn?" Bill exclaimed, standing as quickly as he could and rushing to the bars of his cell.   
  
"Aye, lad," the former Potions Master replied.   
  
"She's a twisted little demon," Amos Diggory spat from his cell, where he still hung bound to the wall.   
  
"Aye," Slughorn said again, "But the question remains, Amos: Is she more than that? ––And if so, then what else is she?"   
  
  
  
  
Wraith and Harper went up the staircase of the entrance hall. Harper kept silent, sensing Wraith's strange dark mood. It wasn't until they were well down the hall that Wraith suddenly reached out to grab him by his arm. She pulled him into an empty room and slammed the door.   
  
"You know where they took him?" she asked him swiftly.   
  
"Yes," Harper said at once, "Bartok and Ze'eva took us right into their hunting grounds."   
  
"Good," Wraith said, her tone rather distracted, "That's very good. Thank you, Antony."   
  
Harper watched her as she began to pace the dark room, her eyes calculating. "…You're going to rescue him, aren't you?" he asked softly.   
  
"If I can manage it without getting caught," Wraith replied darkly. "I'll have to wait until the full moon itself, when they plan to hunt him. The blame can be placed on the wolves for being careless."   
  
"Not that I'm arguing with you or telling you not to do it––but why?"   
  
"I don't like the sport Rafe and his wolves are planning to make of him," Wraith said, "It's one thing to kill an enemy that poses a threat; it's another thing entirely to turn it into a game."   
  
"Is there anything else I can do to help?" Harper asked.   
  
"Certainly," Wraith told him with a smirk, "You can be my alibi." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I need to get out of this dress," she muttered, "Thank you, Antony," she said again, "Thank you for helping me."   
  
"I'm your vassal, my Lady," Harper said, smiling, "What else can I do?"    
  
  
  
  
A couple of hours later, Wraith had taken a very long bath, and then retreated to her tower room. She paced before her bookshelf, gazing at the titles, though she already knew that the book she was looking for wasn't there. She tried to remember where she had seen it and it was difficult to recall because she hadn't actually read it, only glanced through out of curiosity. But now she needed it.   
  
 _It wouldn't have been at Hogwarts_ , she thought, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear.  _And if it isn't here––then that leaves the Malfoys' library_. She would have to come up with an excuse to visit there.   
  
As she reached up towards the books, she felt something brush at the corner of her mind. She glanced at the door, waiting. When nothing happened, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She looked down at herself, trying to decide if she wanted to get dressed. At that moment she only wore the thin robe she had thrown on after her bath.   
  
With a small and almost evil little smile, Wraith took down the book she had been reaching for and then crossed back over to her bed. She lay down on the bed, with the book open in her hands. She waited a few minutes, absorbing the quiet, and then she sighed.   
  
"Are you going to stand outside that door all night or are you coming inside?"   
  
The door opened to admit Voldemort, who scowled at her as he entered, closing the door behind him. "I was still trying to decided," he told her.   
  
"Oh, well, forgive me for forcing your hand," Wraith said mockingly. She closed the book and set it aside.   
  
Voldemort looked down at her, still standing at the door. "It has been a very long night, my Wraith," he said shortly.   
  
"Night's not over yet," Wraith reminded him evenly. She sat up and then got up on her knees, meeting his eyes, and waiting.   
  
Voldemort stepped over to her and she slipped her hands around the back of his neck. He put his hands at her waist, drawing her close. Wraith kissed him softly, just light touches of her lips to his, inviting him to take more.   
  
A far cry from the red and fiery passion that seemed to engulf them in the forest, this cool blue fire was just as perilous. This was his Wraith at her most dangerous, this soft and generous creature in his arms.   
  
Wraith reached down and loosened the tie of her robe and Voldemort slipped his hands beneath the fabric to feel the cool silk of her skin. Voldemort's mouth drifted down to her neck, drawing in the sweet scent of her. Her skin tasted of the lavender and sage from her bath, a delicious change from the usual scent of rose that seemed to follow her. One hand slipped around her back beneath her robe, while the other closed over her breast. Wraith let out a breath, soft and sweet against the side of his face as he kissed the hollow of her throat.   
  
Her hands drifted down his arms and she tried to draw him back into the bed with her––But Voldemort stopped her, taking her by her arms and holding her back.   
  
"I have to go," he told her bitterly.   
  
Wraith blinked at him and felt her temper spark. "…Can it wait?" she asked him, her voice deceptively sweet.   
  
"It cannot."   
  
"Well, shit," Wraith muttered. She sat back on her heels and crossed her arms over her chest.   
  
Voldemort looked amused at her language, but she was all but glaring up at him.   
  
"Will you at least tell me where you're going?" she asked.   
  
When Voldemort didn't reply, Wraith's eyes narrowed dangerously and she stood up from the bed.   
  
"…You're going hunting," she said, almost accusing him. "You're going to go after the graverobber, aren't you?"   
  
"Yes," Voldemort said evenly.   
  
Wraith tilted her head to the side, studying him. "Do you know who it is?"   
  
"No."   
  
"You're lying," she said lightly.   
  
Voldemort scowled at her, his eyes flashing in the near dark of her room.   
  
"You are," Wraith insisted, stepping closer to him, "If you feel you must keep your secret, do so. I won't press. But don't take me for a fool–– _my Lord_."   
  
"As you like,  _pet_ ," the Dark Lord retorted.   
  
The slightest smile played at her lips. "Fine. Good hunting then," she said dismissively, turning her back on him. "But we aren't finished."   
  
"That we can agree on, my Wraith," Voldemort said.   
  
Wraith glanced at him over her shoulder and smirked, that little knife-edged smile he was so used to. Voldemort's eyes drifted over her––She had not even attempted to close her robe. With something of an irritated sigh, Voldemort closed the distance between them and brought his mouth rather roughly down to hers. Wraith all but purred as her hands curled around the back of his neck again. She bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood. The Dark Lord drew back with a soft hiss, but he smiled darkly down at her all the same.   
  
"Goodnight, pet," he told her, walking back to the door.   
  
"Correct me if I'm wrong, my Lord, but I believe that I told you to stop calling me that."   
  
Voldemort smirked. "And just what will you do if I don't?"   
  
Wraith smiled, slow and dark, and did not reply. Voldemort's smile matched her as he slipped through the door.


	58. Fool's Moon

_"He was no longer scared of what tomorrow might bring because yesterday has brought it."_  
  
  
  
  
The days passed far too slowly for Wraith's patience to endure. The Dark Lord was gone for little more than a week, hunting whatever trace of Grindelwald he could find. But Wraith was rather unsurprised when he returned to the Manor with no success. Voldemort barricaded himself within his tower the moment he returned and Wraith did not seek him out. Knowing her Lord as much as she did, she knew perfectly well that he would be in no mood to play her game.   
  
She spent the following week within her own tower, with Harper as her almost constant companion. She had a plan for the night of the full moon, but so much depended on chance that she felt consumed by nervous tension as the days passed.   
  
The night before the full moon would make its appearance in the sky, Wraith knocked upon the Dark Lord's door. Though there was no answer from within, she slipped inside nonetheless.   
  
The circular room was empty, but she could hear Voldemort pacing in his room above. Wraith lifted her eyes up, following his movements for a moment before she crossed the room and took a seat in his chair beside the fireplace. She curled up on the chair and closed her eyes. Following the link between them, she sent the tiniest wisp of power through it, just enough to draw the Dark Lord's attention. She felt him turn and only a few moments later, he appeared from behind the hidden door in the bookshelves.   
  
Despite the deep scowl Voldemort wore, Wraith felt herself smile just slightly.   
  
"Wraith," Voldemort said slowly, "What are you doing here?"   
  
"I came to see you," Wraith replied, as if the answer was obvious.   
  
He did not fall for her innocent tone. He glared at her as he crossed to the chair and gestured sharply for her to stand. Wraith slipped out of the chair and slid smoothly onto the edge of the desk instead.   
  
With a sneering expression, the Dark Lord claimed his chair and turned his eyes away from her. "I don't want to play tonight,  _pet_ ," he snapped at her.   
  
"Then we won't play tonight," Wraith said, shrugging. "Forgive me, my Lord…but you are sulking."   
  
Voldemort's eyes snapped back to her, ire flashing in the crimson color of them. Then he frowned thoughtfully. She had not snapped at him for calling her 'pet' as she usually did. There was no challenge in the air around her––she was simply there. "I think that I am entitled to a sulk, now and then," he told her pensively.   
  
"Everyone is," Wraith said lightly, "now and then." She hopped down from the desk and to Voldemort's surprise, she settled on the floor at his feet. She curled her arms upon his knees and placed her chin on her folded hands, smirking up at him. "Recall, my Lord, that you spurned my help once before and it gained you nothing," she said softly, "I am your Hunter––why not send me after this graverobber? Take back whatever it is that he stole?"   
  
Voldemort looked at her for a long drawn out moment. Then, with a sigh, he gently pushed her away and stood, walking around his desk. " _I_ will find him," he told Wraith, his back to her.   
  
Watching him with careful eyes, Wraith stood. She circled the desk and then sat on the edge of it, just behind him. "Have I ever failed to bring back those you've sent me after?" she demanded of him.   
  
"You have never faced his like," Voldemort snapped at her.   
  
"And what do you mean by that?"   
  
"He is cunning, the like of which you have not known," Voldemort said, "He is dangerous, ruthless, shrewd of mind."   
  
Wraith reached out, slipping her arms around his neck and drawing him backwards a step. "Who is he?" she asked, whispering the question in his ear.   
  
Voldemort did not answer at first, but Wraith could sense that he was pensive, rather than unwilling to reply. "…The name does not leave this room," he told her firmly.   
  
"It will not pass my lips beyond these walls," Wraith promised softly.   
  
"…Grindelwald."   
  
Wraith waited a moment, almost surprised that he had admitted it to her. "The Dark Wizard? He's still alive?"   
  
"He is," Voldemort said, lifting a hand to touch one of hers. "The…object that I was seeking was in his possession before Dumbledore's. I had assumed that he still had it and went to confront him to get him to reveal its location. But he told me nothing––and then he beat me back here to steal it from Dumbledore's tomb before I could reach it."   
  
"Dark Wizard or no, my Lord, do you really think he could circumvent me?" Wraith asked, a touch of ire in her strangely calm voice, "I know the taste of his magic. I could find him."   
  
Voldemort turned suddenly, grabbing her roughly by the arm. "This is  _my_  battle," he hissed, " _I_  will find Grindelwald and take back what it rightfully mine."   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed. "Do you think I'm not up to the challenge?"   
  
"Belay your wounded pride, pet," Voldemort said evenly, "Grindelwald is nothing like those fools in the Order that I sent you after. He is well versed in every spectrum of magic, perhaps even beyond my own knowledge, if only because he has lived longer."   
  
Wraith tilted her head slightly to the side. "And it hurts your pride to admit that," she murmured.   
  
"He is not your concern, my Wraith," Voldemort told her, "He is mine."   
  
Wraith held his gaze a moment longer before she sighed. She leaned forward, brushing her lips lightly over his cheek. "Very well, my Lord," she said softly, "But remember that I made the offer."   
  
"I will," Voldemort told her, "and if pressed, I may take you up on that offer. But for now, leave it to me."   
  
Wraith nodded once and Voldemort slowly released her arm. He stood there a moment longer, studying her face. Wraith smiled just slightly and tilted her head up as she reached to take his face in her hands. Voldemort allowed her to draw him closer and breathed in her scent as she pressed her lips to his. He slipped one hand around her waist, drawing her to the very edge of the desk, pressing the lines of their bodies together.   
  
Wraith's lips parted beneath his, a clear invitation for him to take more. Voldemort did just that, his mouth all but devouring hers in the space of a heartbeat. Wraith dug her knees into his waist, effectively trapping him as her hands drifted down from his shoulders to his chest. Her lips drifted away from his mouth, drawing a line along his jaw to the space just below his ear. Voldemort hissed out a breath as she continued down to his neck. Her teeth grazed lightly over his skin and she felt the unbidden shiver that coursed down his back.   
  
Voldemort turned his head slightly, laying his cheek against her dark hair. Then, with a sigh, he drew back from her. Wraith looked at him, waiting patiently. Voldemort was very tempted to invite her to stay––but his mind was too heavy with other things. "The hour is late," he said, "You should rest, my Wraith."   
  
Wraith sighed herself, dropping her gaze. "As you wish, my Lord," she said softly. She slipped off of the desk and brushed a strand of hair from her face. She started past him, pausing briefly to touch his arm. "Goodnight," she said.   
  
Voldemort nodded to her, turning his back on her to walk around the desk and take his chair by the fire once more. Wraith crossed to the door, slipping through it and closing it quietly behind her.   
  
As she descended the twisting stairs, she could not help but smirk. A great deal depended on the following night––but progress had been made this one.   
  
Up in the tower, Voldemort had turned his eyes towards the door. He had wounded his Wraith's pride in not allowing her to hunt Grindelwald, but it was better that the Dark Wizard never face his Wraith in battle. Grindelwald was, as he had told Wraith, well versed in the various spectrums of magic––and he was also well learned in legends of old. Voldemort could not take the chance that his Dark predecessor would recognize what his Wraith truly was.     
  
  
  
  
Early in the evening the very next night, when the sun was low in the sky, Wraith returned to the Dark Lord's tower. This time when she knocked, he answered. Sitting behind his desk, he lifted his eyes to the door the moment he felt her presence, but he waited until she reached the door. "Enter," he called when he heard her knock.   
  
Wraith stepped into the tower and Voldemort immediately sensed the mischievous air around her. Wraith flashed him a quick grin as she crossed the room to stand before the desk. As she moved closer, Voldemort took note of her dress and the changes she had made that night. Her dress was simply, with short playful sleeves and a ribbon of white corseted down the front. Her make-up was light, her lips only slightly tinted with a soft red. She wore the medallion he'd given her at her breast.   
  
She leaned her hip against the dress, crossing her arms over her chest, "Good evening, my Lord," she said, still smiling.   
  
"What are you up to, my dear one?"   
  
Wraith laughed, delightedly. "' _Dear one_ '?" she repeated, coming around the desk, "I rather like that."   
  
"Do you?" Voldemort said, smiling slowly, "Why don't you show me?"   
  
Wraith gave him another quick grin, a darker edge to it this time, as she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. It was a soft and terribly teasing touch, promising so much more, but she pulled back from him far too soon for his tastes.   
  
Smirking at him, her lips still hovering over his, she tilted her head to one side. "I'm going out."   
  
"I beg your pardon?" Voldemort said, frowning slightly at her.   
  
"You asked me what I was up to," she said, standing straight again. "I'm going out. I'm taking Harper for company."   
  
"And where are you going? And why?"   
  
Wraith sighed, leaning back against the desk and stretching her arms up. "I've a restless feeling in my blood," she replied, "and it's thick in the air tonight. I want to be somewhere that's not here; somewhere that I'm not surrounded by these walls. I'm taking Harper to a little pub that Janesch took me to ages ago."   
  
"We've having a meeting tonight at the Malfoys'," Voldemort told her.   
  
"What time?" Wraith asked.   
  
"Ten o'clock," he replied.   
  
"I'll meet you there," she promised him.   
  
"Don't be late," he warned.   
  
"You have my word," Wraith said, only a touch sardonic. She spun on her heel, walking around the desk in one smooth motion. She held out her hand and her long dark coat appeared there. As she was slipping it on, she glanced back. "Tonight is the full moon," she said, her eyes bright and dark at the same time. "Perhaps it is the hunt that I feel in my blood."   
  
With that, she was gone, disappearing through the door like an apparition.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith moved quickly down the staircase in the entrance hall. Harper was waiting for her at the bottom, already wearing his coat as well. Together they walked down the hall and out the door in silence, Harper automatically falling into her shadow as he always did. He waited until they had reached the gate before he spoke.   
  
"So," he said, lightly, "Where are we going?"   
  
" _La Magia_ ," Wraith said, the name rolling off her tongue like music. "At least, that is where you are going. I'll take you there and it is there that you'll wait for me."   
  
" _La Magia_ ," Harper repeated wistfully, "I like that."   
  
"Janesch took me there," Wraith told him. "I think that you'll like it, actually."   
  
"And while I wait for you there––?" Harper let the rest of the question drop away.   
  
"I will be hunting," Wraith replied darkly, smiling sharply.   
  
She offered one slim hand to him, her skin luminous in the light of the full moon. Harper placed his hand in hers and suddenly the world went dark. When he could see again, they were no longer standing at the edge of the Manor––but in the shadows of the trees surrounded a dark and aged building. Warm light and vitalizing music poured out through the windows and the door, inviting and enchanting.   
  
"Here," Wraith said, placing something in Harper's hand. He looked down, recognized the Muggle money in his palm. "That will get you in the door," Wraith told him. "Try to enjoy yourself. Antony," she added with a smirk.   
  
He grinned in return, but when Wraith turned to leave, he reached out to touch her arm. She paused, looking back to him. "Be careful. My Lady," Harper said.   
  
"As a virgin on her wedding night," Wraith promised with a knife-edge smile. "I won't be long," she told him. "Go on inside now, Tony."   
  
Harper bowed slightly to her and headed up the drive towards the welcoming building. Wraith waited in the shadows as Harper reached the door, pausing to give his money to the man at the door. Wraith recognized the intimidating figure of Kale, the same man that had guarded the door the night that Janesch had brought her there. Harper shared a short greeting with the man, his laughter bright as it drifted back to her ears. Wraith smiled to herself before she faded into the dark of the shadows around her.   
  
  
  
  
The moon was beginning to rise, full and silver, in the sky above the werewolves' hunting ground. Time was quickening.   
  
Rafe slowly approached the still bound captive, a deep growl resonating in the back of his throat. He knelt before Lupin, taking the man's face in his hand and roughly turning it up so that their eyes met.   
  
"Tonight you die." Rafe told the man in a whisper, a touch of his wolf already in his face. "Are you ready?"   
  
"More than you will ever be, young man," Lupin replied, his voice irritatingly calm. "You can kill me, Alpha Wolf, but can never take from me what I had. A wife and child----a family. If dying is the price I pay for having them, then so be it. I would not trade anything, not even my own life, for what I had with them."   
  
Rafe scowled deeply, striking Lupin sharply across the face. His hand had already curled into a claw, the changed rapidly taking over him. Lupin's face was marred by the deep cuts Rafe's claws left. Blood ran down his cheek, the scent of it sharp and copperish to Rafe's nose. Growling, he raked his claws across Lupin's other cheek and then down his neck and chest, ripping his skin open and spilling his blood to the night air.   
  
Behind him, he felt his pack's growing tension, the hunt thrumming through their veins and twisting their limbs. Rafe took a deep breath, holding back the change as long as he could. He tore away the chains that bound Lupin, allowing the wounded man to fall to the ground. "Run, little rabbit," he sneered. "We'll give you a head start as a courtesy."   
  
Lupin slowly rose to his feet, blood dripping from his wounds and falling to the ground. He regarded Rafe with a solemn and almost pitying look before he turned and began a painful trudge into the forest.   
  
Rafe turned to his pack, seeing his sister and Bartok at the head of the group. Ze'eva wore a dark little smile, her eyes following Lupin as he disappeared into the trees. Rafe nodded to Bartok and then threw back his head, howling at the sky. As the sound of it travelled through the forest, the pack finally gave into the change that twisted their bones. Rafe turned back to the forest, the scent of Lupin's blood heavy in the air.   
  
 _"Seems strange to kill a man simply for living."_    
  
He heard the words as if they had been whispered in his ear. He felt the slightest twinge in his heart that could have been guilt. But his pack was waiting for him to give the order. He could not show weakness before them, not even in front of his beloved sister. With a growl of pure pain, he folded forward and let the change take him.   
  
  
  
  
Lupin moved as quickly as his wounds allowed, but when the moon rose in the sky above, he was struck by a new pain and it disarmed him. He fell to the ground with a gasping breath and writhed with the pain of the change. It was only when wolfen paws hit the ground that the pain dissipated, leaving only that of the wounds Rafe had inflicted.   
  
The wolf that was Lupin shook himself and then took off at a limping run deeper into the forest. He could hear the pounding pursuit of the pack somewhere in the distance behind him and it urged him on despite the way that the blood flowed from his veins, leaving a trail on the ground behind him.   
  
He ran for what seemed like hours, though little time had actually passed, until he reached the center of a small clearing. He trudged on----until he felt his entire body stop in mid-step. A whine tore from his throat as he tried to fight the power that held him still. He had to run----they were coming to kill him! Was this a trap set by Rafe's wolves----or was something else waiting for him in the shadows? The wolf did not understand what was going on as the man would have. All the wolf knew was that he was injured and alone, with enemies nipping at his heels.   
  
Someone emerged from the shadows in front of him and the wolf growled, deep in his throat, as they approached him. The stranger was nothing but another threat to the wolf. But when the figure lowered the hood of her coat, something in the wolf recognized her.   
  
Wraith knelt before the great wolf, unflinching even as he snarled and bit at the air in front of her. With gentle hands, she touched him, taking his wolfen face into her hands.   
  
Suddenly, it was the man looking at her through the wolf's eyes. Lupin froze inside, not understanding what the Dark Lord's Wraith was doing there. What did the Lady Death want with him now?   
  
"Remus Lupin," Wraith said, her voice a whisper on the night wind, "I'm not here to hurt you. I've come to set you free." She tilted her head to one side, amused to see the distrust and disbelief in his eyes. "You'll have to move fast," she told him, "I will hide your scent and hide you from their eyes. Run as far as you can towards the moon. At the edge of their territory, you will find clothing and your wand hidden in the hollow of a tree. Wait there until the moon sets----and once you are human again, then you run again. Find your wife and son."   
  
Lupin stared at her with golden eyes. He could feel the wounds that Rafe had created fading to nothing as the Wraith's power flowed over him. When the last of the wounds were gone, along with his blood, Wraith stood.   
  
"Run now," she told him, "…and you may tell the Weasleys that Arthur and Bill are prisoners, but still alive. I'm sure they will be grateful for the information."   
  
Lupin took a shaking step forward, towards her, and gently butted his head against her hip. Wraith ran her hand over the course dark fur that covered him, smiling gently.  
  
"Tell no one what I have done for tonight," she said firmly, though her voice was as gentle as her hand. Then she stepped away at the sound of a deep braying howl that tore through the air. She knew instinctively that it was Rafe's. Drawing her hood back up, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the night.   
  
Lupin stared after her and then changed his direction, running towards the moon that hung bright in the sky above him.   
  
Hiding in shadow, Wraith felt a chill creep under her skin. She was not the only stranger in Rafe's territory that night. She could feel it. Trouble was coming on swift feet towards them all. It was time for her to take her leave.   
  
  
  
  
Harper was waiting for her outside when she arrived at La Magia, sitting on the front steps chatting with Kale. Their conversation cut off when Wraith appeared at the edge of the light cast by the building.   
  
"Well," Harper said brightly, standing up, "Here's my ride. Nice meeting you, Kale."   
  
"Hope to see you again," Kale said, his wariness of the hooded stranger obvious in his voice. He watched with careful eyes as the boy walked briskly down the drive to where the stranger stood. Together, Harper and Wraith walked away until they were no longer in Kale's sight. Then Wraith took Harper's hand in her own and they were gone.   
  
They Apparated to the front gate of the Malfoys' manor home. Harper paused to catch his breath before he turned to Wraith. "So?"   
  
"It's done," she told him simply.   
  
"Good," Harper said, nodding. "We're early, you know," he added as they passed through the gates and up the graveled path towards the manor.   
  
"What time is it?" Wraith asked. She had lost track of the time at some point during her hunt of the werewolves.   
  
"It's only nine o'clock," Harper told her. "I'm pretty sure that the Dark Lord wanted everyone to meet here around ten."   
  
"He did, yes," Wraith said. "…But he's already here. We might as well stay."   
  
"That's kind of scary, you know."   
  
"What?" Wraith said, turning to him with a frown.   
  
"How you always know where he is," Harper admitted. "Is it the same for him?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith said softly.   
  
They reached the doors and Wraith opened them, stepping inside first. As Harper closed the door behind them, Wraith caught the hint of movement at the entrance to the drawing room.   
  
A moment later, Narcissa appeared, carrying a wide-awake Rabian in her arms. Narcissa sighed with what was obviously relief. "Oh, my Lady, it's you," she said, meeting them halfway.   
  
"Narcissa," Wraith said, reaching out to touch Rabe's face. The little boy reached his arms out to her and Wraith gladly took him from his aunt's hands. Holding him close, she smiled fondly at him. "And what are you doing up so late, little one?" she asked, her voice carrying an edge of sweetness that neither Narcissa nor Harper had truly heard before.   
  
"He's been restless all day," Narcissa said tiredly.   
  
"Hm, well we have that in common, you and me, Rabe," Wraith said, tickling the boy's chin. The boy giggled and Wraith laughed along with him.   
  
Harper couldn't help grin but at the sight of the Lady Death cradling the child so lovingly. His grin faltered when another figure stepped into the doorway of the drawing room.   
  
Voldemort crossed to where they stood, regarding his Wraith with a careful eye. He seemed intrigued by the sight of her holding Rabe, just as Harper was.   
  
Wraith smirked just slightly as she met the Dark Lord's eyes. "My Lord," she said softly, holding Rabe a little tighter, making it clear that she wasn't ready to give him back to Narcissa.   
  
"Wraith," Voldemort said, looking from her to Harper, a dark edge to his voice, "Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked her, a touch sharp.   
  
"Very much," Wraith replied dryly, knowing exactly what had passed through his mind a moment before.   
  
"I wish to speak with you, my Wraith," he told her, "… _alone_."   
  
Wraith sighed and turned back towards Narcissa. The older woman took her nephew back, glancing fearfully between Wraith and the Dark Lord. Wraith smiled at her, placing her hand on Narcissa's arm for a moment. Then she looked to Voldemort again, giving him that familiar little knife-edge smile. She turned on her heel, without a word to him, and started back towards the front doors. Voldemort, to her slight surprise, followed in equal silence.   
  
He did close the door rather sharply behind them and Wraith gave him an ironic glance for it. Smiling in night air, Wraith wandered slowly down the front steps. In the moonlight, she spun around a few times, holding her arms out like a child dancing to their own music.   
  
"Eventually, you will have to believe that I didn't sleep with Harper," she said to him, still spinning.   
  
Voldemort walked down the steps, swiftly closing the distance between them. He grabbed her by the wrist, stopping her dance abruptly. Wraith grinned up at him, infected by the moonlight.   
  
"I believe you," Voldemort said slowly.   
  
"No, you don't," Wraith retorted, "Not entirely. There's a part of you that still wonders."   
  
"Perhaps if you told me just who it was that you took to bed….?"   
  
"Not a chance, my Lord," Wraith told him. She pulled free of his grasp, only to take his face in her hands. She pulled him down, pressing her mouth demandingly to his. He answered her demand, pulling her closer.   
  
Wraith bit gently at his lips, drawing back. "Come," she whispered, her lips brushing his, "The garden," she said, drawing him back with her.   
  
Voldemort kept his hand at her waist and took the lead towards the garden paths. Once they were away from the gravel drive, Wraith reached her him again. There was a fire in her; Voldemort could almost feel it burning under her skin. "Not enough time," he murmured, his lips at the delicate skin of her neck.   
  
"Doesn't stop the wanting, does it?" Wraith said with half a laugh.   
  
"No," Voldemort replied.   
  
Wraith hissed out a breath as his teeth went back to her neck. "There's something in the air," she murmured, her hand at the back of his head. "Ah," she whispered the sound as Voldemort pulled back to look at her. "Can you feel it?" she asked him, casting her eyes around them. "…We're not alone here."   
  
Voldemort abruptly let go of, taking out his wand and looking around the garden. Wraith smiled, the thrill of the hunt back in her blood.   
  
"How long before the others arrive?" she asked in a whisper.   
  
"Too long," Voldemort replied. He gestured to her and Wraith offered her arm, drawing back her sleeve. Voldemort touched his hand to the Dark Mark, sending a swift order through the Mark that connected all of his Death Eaters. "Now they will come," he said shortly.   
  
They both turned at the soft growl that came from the bushes nearby. Wraith sucked in a breath as a great dark-furred werewolf stalked out towards them.


	59. Fragile Things

_"There are so many fragile things, after all. People break so easily, and so do dreams and hearts."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith lifted a hand and a spurt of red fire blossomed in the air between them and the great wolf. The werewolf let out a howl of pain as the flames licked at his fur and he backtracked quickly.   
  
But even as Wraith breathed a sigh of relief, she felt the presence of further danger. She reached back and took the Dark Lord' hand. "They've surrounded us," she hissed, her fury at being trapped blazing under her skin. "It's a bloody ambush."   
  
She tore away from Voldemort before he could reply, surging forward to meet the first werewolf again. The wolf snarled at her and leapt towards her, but he hit an invisible wall of power and the smell of singed fur drifted across the dark garden. The wolf yelped, retreating again. Wraith watched her prey with wary eyes. The wolf snarled at her, but did not attack again. Instead he began to circle her, as I looking for a weak point. Wraith felt a chill as she met the wolf's golden eyes.   
  
"Well, well," she murmured, tilting her head to one side as she slowly rotated to follow his movements. "A wolf with a man's mind. Clever beast."   
  
The werewolf seemed to hesitate and Wraith knew that he had understood her. He bent his front legs as if preparing to leap again----but before Wraith could parry his attack she was hit from the side. The second werewolf was larger and copper-colored. He bared his teeth at her, his enormous form crushing her into the ground. Wraith hissed out a breath and the wolf was thrown off of her. He landed several feet away, crashing into a short stone wall covered in ivy. There was a smear of blood on the wall where his head had hit. Wraith looked at him, but he did not rise again. She looked back to the first wolf, but he was gone.   
  
Wraith lifted her eyes to the rest of the garden and saw that Voldemort had been surrounded by three other werewolves. He was handling himself well; the wolves, even in numbers, were no match for him.   
  
Wraith saw Lucius run around from the front doors and he sent a curse flying as one of the wolves broke away to attack him. "My Lord!" Lucius called, thwarting another attack, "There are wizards among them! It isn't only the beasts!" Even as the words left his mouth, he was struck from behind with the Cruciatus curse. He fell to the ground, screaming, but Wraith came up behind the wizard who had cast the spell and dropped him before he even knew she was there. Lucius scrambled to his feet and he met Wraith's eyes. She nodded to him before turning her attention to the edge of the garden. She hissed a warning to Lucius, who turned to look as well. "Oh, dear lord," he whispered.   
  
There were a dozen werewolves slowly approaching and half a dozen wizards as well. But even as they took in the sight of the threat, dark cloaked figures Apparated from behind them.   
  
Wraith felt a quick grin flash across her face. "My Lord, our reinforcements have arrived!"   
  
The enemy reached her and Lucius and Wraith found herself surrounded by several wizards and werewolves. She felt two different curses hit her, but she gave no sign that she had even felt them. With a quick slicing motion of her hands, the wizards who had sent the curses fell.   
  
Wraith turned towards the nearest werewolf and saw the intelligence in his eyes just as she had the first. She smiled slowly, sharply and gestured to the wolf, daring him to attack. The werewolf leapt at her, his teeth aimed for her throat. But in mid-air, he was sent flying back, landing amidst a group of the enemy.   
  
Shouts and curses filled the air as the rest of the Death Eaters joined the fray. Bright flashes of light made the night turn to day in the garden. Wraith weaved in and out of the rest of the combatants, giving aid to those Death Eaters who were being overpowered by the invaders. Lucius, she saw, fought with more vigor than she had ever seen from him before. She suspected that the man was deeply insulted that they had dared bring the war to his home.   
  
Wraith found the Dark Lord among the rest and stood back to back with him. Together they brought wizards and wolves down one by one when they dared too close. Wraith felt the thrill of battle in her blood and for a moment it almost frightened her.   
  
Her head snapped around at the sharp sound of breaking glass. "They're in the manor!" she shouted, catching Lucius's attention. Leaving Voldemort to his own prey, Wraith broke away, running back to the front of the great house, Lucius on her heels.   
  
They barreled through the front doors, one of which was hanging off of its hinges. Lucius ran to check the lower rooms, but Wraith immediately started up the staircase, following the scent of foreign magic. As she ran, she wondered just who it was that had brought the wolves to their door. It was not the Order; she recognized none of the men that had trespassed.   
  
Wraith's heart lurched as she reached the top of the first landing. She could hear a child crying from down the hallway. "Rabian," she whispered, running all the faster.  
  
In the nursery, Narcissa shook with terror, faced with two wizards and one great dark werewolf. She stood protectively in front of Rabian's cradle and sent a swift paralyzing curse at one of the wizards who had broken in, but it missed him by an inch. He sent a curse of his own and it hit the woman dead in the heart. Narcissa fell back hard against the dresser and slid to the ground, unconscious.   
  
In his crib, Rabian screamed his fear and confusion. One of the wizards muttered a curse and snarled at his companion. "Shut the brat up, would you?" The other took a step towards the cradle.   
  
"Take another step towards that child and I will burn you down to the marrow of your bones."   
  
The voice was cold enough to burn. The werewolf turned and growled, deep and threatening, but the two wizards paled dangerously when they saw the slim figure at the doorway.   
  
Wraith was shaking with fury, her long hair moving as if in a gentle wind, and her eyes were burning.   
  
The werewolf bared his teeth as her and surged forward. Wraith caught him in the web of her power and threw him hard against the wall. The wolf yelped and landed hard on the floor.   
  
Wraith stepped forward into the room, her hands curled into claws at her sides. The two wizards fell back and they began to circle around her, waiting for attack. Wraith reached the cradle and without taking her eyes off of her opponents, she reached in and took the screaming boy into her arms. Holding him close, she glared at the them; her eyes seemed to glow with an unearthly light.   
  
The werewolf appeared to have recovered from his fall and he advanced on the girl and child, snarling. Wraith snarled in return and the wolf was thrown back, this time slamming with great forced into the two wizards.   
  
The Wraith's power pushed them across the ground before they had a chance to recover and they were thrown out of the room entirely. They landed in a heap in the hall and the door slammed shut behind them.   
  
Rabian was still crying as he clung to her. Wraith put a hand on the back of his head, rocking him gently in her arms. "Hush, sweet boy," she murmured, "It's alright. You're safe now." His cries subsided slightly, but did not stop entirely.   
  
Wraith knelt beside Narcissa's fallen form and she reached out, touching her hand to the woman's cheek. Narcissa's eyes fluttered open and she sat up quickly, looking around for danger. When she saw Wraith holding Rabian, tears filled her eyes.   
  
"My Lady," she said, grabbing Wraith's arm, "Oh, thank you.  _Thank you_!"   
  
Wraith passed Rabian into his aunt's arms. "I'm going to put a ward on the room," she told Narcissa, "Stay here with Rabe until the battle is done. You'll be safe."   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Narcissa said, rocking Rabian to still his cries, "Thank you."   
  
Wraith smiled just slightly as she climbed to her feet and hurried out of the room. Closing the door, she pressed her hand to the carved wood and closed her eyes as her power flowed from her fingertips to cover it. Satisfied that Narcissa and Rabe would truly be safe, Wraith turned her attention to the three enemies in the hall.   
  
The two wizards were unconscious, but the wolf was already on his feet, wavering slightly but recovering quickly enough. Wraith moved like a snake, walking backwards and drawing the werewolf's complete attention to her.   
  
"Come on, puppy," Wraith taunted, "Come and catch me."   
  
The dare delivered, she turned on her heel and ran with the wolf in pursuit. As they neared the end of the hall, Wraith suddenly grabbed the banister of the stairs and flew over it. The wolf, his momentum carrying him on even though he tried to stop, tumbled down the stairs, landing clumsily at the bottom. Wraith's laughter filled his ears and threw fuel on the fire of his humiliation. He stood up, bristling at her, but Wraith merely gestured and he was swallowed by her power. Wraith turned her back on him as he collapsed to the floor, unconscious as the wizards upstairs.   
  
Wraith started for the front doors, but turned quickly at the sound of a woman's scream. Wraith followed the sound to the dining room, bursting into a battle already in play.   
  
Lucius was dueling fiercely with one of the invading wizards and another was advancing on Draco. The younger Malfoy was standing in the corner of the room, crouched slightly as if he were protecting something. His opponent threw a curse and it missed Draco by almost nothing. Another scream came and Wraith realized that there was a young woman, kneeling on the floor behind Draco.   
  
Wraith rushed forward, grabbing Draco's enemy by the scruff of his neck and throwing him back. He hit the table and went skidding across the surface of it. The wizard scrambled to his feet immediately and shouted a curse.   
  
The bright light of it hit Wraith in the chest, but when she did not fall and even react to it, the wizard realized who it was he faced. He started to back away, but before he could get far, Wraith shouted at Draco's father. " _Lucius, down_!"   
  
Lucius ducked down to the ground at once and Wraith sent a flash of power across the room, striking both enemies across the chest. They fell in a heap to the floor as Lucius slowly rose to his feet again.   
  
"Thank you, my Lady," he said, breathing hard. "Narcissa?"   
  
"She's safe," Wraith assured him, "As is Rabian." She looked back to Draco, who was helping the young woman to stand as well.   
  
Wraith glanced at the girl quickly. She was pretty, with a soft and delicate sort of look. Her eyes were a pale and pretty green, her hair light brown. From the way that she clung to Draco, Wraith surmised that this was the friend that Draco had not wanted anyone to know about.   
  
"Draco."   
  
He turned at Wraith's voice and blushed deeply. "Thank you…my Lady," he said haltingly. He was looking between her and his friend with what could have only been fear. Wraith did not like to see it in his eyes. She took a single step closer and held out her hand to the young woman.   
  
"My name is Wraith," she told the girl, "You're a friend of Draco's?"   
  
"Yes," the young woman said, hesitantly taking Wraith's offered hand.   
  
"What is your name?" Wraith asked. "Astoria," she replied, "Astoria Greengrass."   
  
"Astoria, if you'll go upstairs to the nursery, you'll find Narcissa and the baby there," Wraith told her, "I've warded the room against enemies. You'll be safe there."   
  
A flash of relief went across Draco's face.   
  
"Th-thank you," Astoria said quickly.   
  
"I'll take you," Draco told her firmly, slipping an arm over her shoulders. Again, he looked to Wraith. "Thank you," he said softly.   
  
Wraith smiled at him before she turned on her heel. "Come, Lucius," she said commandingly, "We've a battle to win."   
  
Within moments, she and Lucius had rejoined the fray outside the manor. Wraith felt something grip her heart as she took in the scene. The gardens were overrun with werewolves and wizards. Where had they all come from?   
  
Wraith slipped like a shadow through the battle, searching for the Dark Lord. She found him battling with a tall wizard, with long dark brown hair and a scar running down the side of his face. Wraith was disturbed to see that Voldemort was only holding his own against the man, as if he were not fighting with his all. She moved closer, intending to intervene––but then she paused.  _He wants this man alive_ , she realized, the thought grim in her mind.  _Who is he_?   
  
Wraith glanced around, taking in the rest of the battle. She looked back to the Dark Lord just in time to see a bolt of light hit his shoulder.   
  
" _No_!" Wraith screamed the word as Voldemort fell to one knee, his face twisted in pain and fury. He heard her cry and lifted his eyes to hers. The wizard who had felled him turned at the scream as well––and that was all the opportunity Voldemort needed.   
  
With a slashing gesture of his wand, the wizard fell to the ground, screaming with the pain of the Cruciatus curse. "You should know better than to take your eyes off of your opponent, Talbot," Voldemort said coldly as he climbed back to his feet.   
  
"Talbot," Wraith whispered the name as she hurried forward. His screams hurt her ears––They were so very similar to his wife's.   
  
A sudden movement behind the Dark Lord drew Wraith's eyes and she cried out again. "My Lord,  _look out_!"   
  
Voldemort spun as the werewolf that had snuck up behind him leapt. He lifted his wand in defense too late––but the wolf slammed suddenly into an iridescent wall of pale gold light and was flung back. The distraction of the wolf, however, gave Talbot the chance to slip away.   
  
Wraith was at her Lord's side but a moment later, her eyes locked upon the fallen wolf.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort said, placing a hand firmly upon her shoulder, "You have my thanks."   
  
"No thanks are required, my Lord," she murmured in return, "I was merely doing my duty." She turned her head, but did not lift her eyes to his. "Are you unharmed?"   
  
"Quite," he told her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, "Find Talbot for me, my dear one."   
  
Wraith smiled sharply. "As you wish, my Lord," she said, turning slightly so that their faces were very close.   
  
Surrounded as they were, Voldemort could resist being so very close to her lips. His mouth brushed gently over hers, the lightest of touches. Wraith's smile widened, but she slipped away from his touch nonetheless. Voldemort smiled after her, the expression dark, as she disappeared into the heart of the battle to do his bidding.   
  
Wraith moved through the other combatants like a shadow, one pale hand reaching out to brush across an arm or a shoulder of an enemy as she passed. She found no sign of Talbot visible to the eye, but she caught the trace of his magic and followed that instead.   
  
It did not take her long after that to spot him within the crowd. The sight of him was bitter and sweet. She had half-hoped that he would have fled the battle entirely. Guilt gripped her heart and made her cross. Scowling with it, she started towards him.   
  
A sudden piercing pain in her right leg made her stumble with a sharp cry. Buried in her calf was a short blade. Wraith crouched on one knee and lifted her eyes to see one of the wizards she'd faced within the manor several feet in front of her, his wand pointed in her direction. Wraith sneered at him, jerking the blade free of her flesh and standing once more.   
  
But she had only taken a single step towards him when a shadow met her from the side. She turned quickly----only to scream as the werewolf raked his claws down her chest, exposing raw flesh and bone to the frigid night air.   
  
Wraith stood in shock, choking on her own blood.   
  
" _Wraith_!" Harper's frantic scream barely reached her through the pain.   
  
Numbly, she looked down at her chest and she could not look away. A disarray of blood red and bone white. She could see her own ribs move as she struggled to breathe.   
  
The werewolf doubled back and flung itself upon her, bringing her to the ground. His massive jaws closed around her shoulder and tore into it. Wraith screamed, the sound high and bright and terrible.   
  
Voldemort, too far away to see her, heard her scream. With a cutting movement of his wand, his opponent fell and the Dark Lord was gone before he had even hit the ground. Voldemort forced his way through the battle, dispatching each enemy that dared to get in his way. The bright green light of his curse shone as bright as sunbursts. But there were too many to move quickly. He could not reach her.   
  
The pain that Wraith felt was grotesque. The wolf gnawed on her shoulder like chew toy, ripping through muscle and cracking bone. Her hand frantically fought to find the dagger at her waist, her fingers slippery with hot blood.   
  
An eternity seemed to swallow her until she felt her hand grip the hilt of the goblin-wrought blade. She pulled it free of the sheath and drove it deeply into the werewolf's chest, her panic giving her strength where her power failed her. Again and again, she stabbed the blade into the werewolf's flesh. She didn't realize she was still screaming until, with a blood-soaked howl, the werewolf fell to the ground beside her.   
  
Wraith's screams cut off suddenly enough that the Dark Lord had a sudden fear that she had died. But the link between them burned brightly in his mind's eye and he knew it wasn't so.   
  
Wraith felt her vision blur and refocus again and again as she drew in short gasping breaths. She saw movement to her left and she turned her head, expecting at any moment to die. But it was Harper who collapsed to his knees beside her. There were tears on his face as he reached out to her. But he looked helplessly at her wounds----there was nowhere to touch that would not cause pain.   
  
An enemy wizard rushed towards them, but Harper's panic at seeing Wraith so helpless left him too slow to fend off the approaching curse. He ducked, bending over Wraith's fallen form, but fully expecting the curse to hit. When nothing came, the boy lifted his eyes to see Snape standing guard before them.   
  
Wraith was barely conscious of what was happening around her, but the pain seemed to sharpen within her and with a gasp, she felt the shattered bones of her shoulder snap back into place. Another high scream escaped her, but with the bones well on their way to healing, she felt the world come back into focus. She turned on her side towards Harper, forcing herself to move beyond the horrible pain.   
  
Harper took hold of her good arm and helped her to stand. Harper pressed his face to her uninjured shoulder and let out a sob. Then he steeled himself and stood firmly, letting Wraith use him to remain on her feet.   
  
Her crystal eyes were wide, the look in them not quite sane, and the color of them seemed to glow.   
  
Snape stepped back, turning to examine the girl's wounds. He touched a hand to her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his. She did not seem to realize it was him. He pressed his hand to her throat, feeling the pulse there jump erratically.   
  
Wraith was a mess of blood, both the wolf's and her own. She opened her mouth to speak, but choked on the words, blood bubbling to her lips. Snape winced and he gently put his arm over her.   
  
"Harper, find the Dark Lord," Snape said quickly, "I will protect her while she is in this weakened state. Go."   
  
Harper took one faltering step back, but something he saw in Snape's face made him trust the man and he turned to run.   
  
"Wraith," Snape said, "Can you hear me?"   
  
Wraith nodded once and Snape felt her shaking. "… _Soon_."   
  
Snape frowned, but then he looked down at her and saw that the claw marks on her chest were almost scars----But her shoulder was worse, the damage would have been beyond repair had she been an ordinary witch. There was no skin left to her shoulder and the upper part of her arm. It was all muscle, blood, and exposed bone.   
  
With a snarl, Snape turned at the sound of another foe approaching. The wizard's wand slashed through the air and a bolt of red light flew towards Snape. It hit him in the shoulder----He had allowed it to.   
  
The wizard faltered in his attack when he saw the spell had had no effect on Snape. "...The hell?" he muttered. That was all he had time to say, however, before the stunning curse of Snape's hit him dead in the chest.   
  
"This cloak of yours does come in handy, child," Snape told Wraith, pleased to see that her eyes had cleared a little more.   
  
She actually managed a smirk. Then her eyes widened and she turned, her movements jarring, to see Harper return with Voldemort.   
  
The Dark Lord hurried towards her. Wraith reached her hand out and gripped his arm.   
  
" _Help…me_." The words were a demand.   
  
"My Lord," Snape said quickly, "Do you have any of her power stored? Is there anything you can give her?"   
  
"Yes," Voldemort said shortly, taking Wraith's face into his hands.   
  
Wraith drew in a breath, closing her eyes as she felt her power wash over. It slipped into her wounds and sped the healing. Snape, Harper, and Voldemort all watched with fascination as new skin covered over the girl's shoulder. Wraith jerked in Voldemort's grasp, the hurried healing hurting almost as much as the wounds themselves. But then her eyes snapped open, and there was no mistaking this time---- _they were glowing_.   
  
Voldemort took a quick step backwards, and at his sudden movement, Snape and Harper did the same.   
  
Wraith's hands curled into claws at her sides and she trembled with raw fury. Her power burst from her skin like a forest fire. The ground quaked beneath their feet and a high wind roared over the battle field that the garden had become.   
  
Everyone stopped, struggling to remain standing as the ground continued to shake.   
  
It was not long before Talbot found the source of it, his eyes widening at the sight of the Wraith. She was a gruesome sight----covered in blood, the dagger still gripped in her hand gored to the hilt.   
  
As if she could feel his gaze, Wraith slowly turned her head, letting her head fall to the side as their eyes met. Talbot felt a cold wave wash down his spine. Wraith made no sound, but she mouthed the word, " _Run_."   
  
Talbot did not hesitate. He shouted to those that had come with him. " _Retreat_! Get out of here  _now_!" Without waiting, he took off for the edge of the garden, Disapparating immediately.   
  
Wraith pulled her power back into herself and the world stilled as the last of the enemy survivors fled. She stood steadier on her feet as she now looked around the garden.   
  
Bodies were littered across the ground, werewolf and wizard, Death Eater and rebel alike.   
  
"They fight as dirty as we do," Wraith said quite calmly, her voice low and rough.   
  
"Of course they do," Snape said dryly, "They used to be us." He took of his cloak, throwing it over Wraith's shoulders.   
  
She clung to it, grateful for the cover. She closed her eyes a moment, calling on her power once again, though it was slightly painful to do so. In a breath, the blood that covered her was gone. Wraith held the cloak close, and turned her head to smile slightly in gratitude at Snape.  
  
"Come," Voldemort said, looking around at the carnage left from the battle, "We must see who has fallen. Let us clean up this mess."   
  
Wraith nodded, but then she seemed to freeze again. Her eyes fell to the fallen form of the werewolf that had mauled her. The wolf was twitching, a high whine issuing from his throat. He was still alive.  
  
She took a faltering step towards the pitiful creature, a mixture of pride and revulsion washing through her as she gazed at the damage she had caused with the blade still gripped in her hand. Snape followed her gaze and touched a hand to her shoulder to stop her. "My Lady, I can----"  
  
With a snarl, Wraith pulled free of his grasp and fell to her knees beside the still twitching wolf. She turned the hilt of the dagger in her hand and then lifted it. Her face was smooth and stone-like as she plunged the dagger into the wolf's throat and twisted, severing the beast's spine. The creature went still.  
  
Voldemort watched his Wraith, his gaze intent. He offered a hand to her and helped her to stand again.


	60. Burnt Black

_"Lust's passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith walked slowly through the carnage, seeking out signs of life among the dead. She wrapped Snape's cloak tightly around her, covering the ruined fabric of her dress. She felt oddly disconnected at the sight of all the dead. There weren't as many fallen Death Eaters as there were fallen foes, but Wraith wondered if she ought to have felt something for the familiar faces she saw amongst them. So many of the faces she saw were those that had come to the Dark Lord when her Harper had, so many of them young men that had died too soon.   
  
She had wandered almost to the edge of the gardens, far from the rest of the others, when she found the first survivor. Wraith's slow steps came to an abrupt halt as she stared down at the ruined body of Thorfinn Rowle.   
  
As had happened to her, he looked like he had been mauled by one of the werewolves. He was struggling for breath, his throat all but torn out. His glazed eyes found hers in the dark and he reached up a hand towards her, entreatingly. Soft, struggling sounds issued from his ruined throat.   
  
Wraith gazed down at him, silent and still.   
  
 _"He's Thorfinn Rowle's nephew, the only son of his younger brother. Edwin and his father both chose not to follow the family tradition in supporting the Dark Lord, quite the reverse in fact. They've both fought wholeheartedly against our Lord. And when Thorfinn killed his brother and sister-in-law, his nephew fought all the harder."_  
  
"Thorfinn," Wraith murmured, tilting her head to one side.   
  
Again, he tried to speak, to plead for her help. But still Wraith did not move. Thorfinn gazed up at her, fear creeping into his eyes. He had seen her face like this before, this stone mask----but he did not ever recall seeing her eyes so very cold. His imploring hand fell to the cold ground beside him.   
  
And then Wraith did something she had not thought herself capable of----she walked away, leaving him to die.   
  
Wraith walked on, numbly wondering about the cold that seemed to have seeped into her very bones. She felt no guilt, no burden at walking away from Thorfinn Rowle, but she could not help but wonder if she should have. The thought crossed her mind of what Edwin would have done concerning his parents' murderer. But she had no answer. Being what she was, she did not think that she could have done anything else. It was not in her to kill him, despite the hatred she felt on behalf of her love, but that did not mean she was obligated to save him.   
  
Her mind was still on Thorfinn when she came across one other survivor. Quincy was sitting on the hard ground, leaning back against a low garden wall and clutching his right arm to his chest. There was a great deal of blood soaking his robes; that was the first thing that Wraith saw. He looked up warily when he heard her soft footsteps. "My Lady," he said stiffly.   
  
"Quincy," she replied evenly, kneeling in front of him. "You're hurt. Let me see."   
  
"I'm fine," Quincy said, a tad too quickly.    
  
"Now, I wonder why it is that I don't believe you," Wraith said lightly, smirking a little. "Let me see the wound, Quincy. Consider it an order."   
  
The Death Eater gritted his teeth, but he hesitantly held out his arm towards her. Wraith took hold of his wrist, her touch gentle as she pushed back the tore sleeve. She drew in a sharp breath when she saw the wound clearly.   
  
"You've been bitten," she murmured. She lifted her eyes to his, saw how pale he gone. "I can help. Don't be afraid. As early as I've caught this, I believe I can burn the bite out of your blood."   
  
"I…I'd rather you didn't."  
  
Wraith's eyes widened briefly. "Do you have a desire to become a werewolf, Quincy?" she asked him, incredulous.   
  
The man would not meet her eyes. "The Dark Lord could use me. Rafe would almost have to accept me into his pack. Our Lord could make a spy of me; keep a closer eye on him and his wolves."   
  
"That is very true," Wraith agreed, "And you are clever to have thought of it----but Quincy, if it is the Dark Lord's favor you seek, this is not the way to get it. The Dark Lord does not have a high opinion of the werewolves, even as useful as they've proved. You would cease to become human in his eyes."   
  
"I understand that," he all but snapped at her.   
  
Wraith considered him in silence; long enough that Quincy began to fidget under the weight of her gaze.   
  
"You've more than just the one reason, don't you?" Wraith asked him slowly.   
  
Quincy looked away quickly and did not reply.   
  
A sudden idea occurred to Wraith and she smiled slightly. "…You met someone the night of the new moon, didn't you?"   
  
Quincy went red and his jaw tightened, but he still did not answer.   
  
Wraith sighed and got to her feet. "Come," she told Quincy, offering her hand, "We should get back to the others. We'll discuss your idea with the Dark Lord later."   
  
She helped to pull the man to his feet and together they walked back towards the manor. Wraith had no illusions that she would find any other survivors among the dead.    
  
The Dark Lord, Lucius, and Snape all waited on the front steps of the manor, the rest had retreated into the house itself.   
  
Voldemort looked Quincy over with a sharp eye, noting the way the man favored his right arm and the amount of blood on him. "Were there no other survivors, my Wraith?" he asked her.   
  
"No, my Lord," Wraith replied, looking up at him, "Only dead men."   
  
There was something in her cold calm voice that set off warning bells in Snape's head, but he gave no sign of it and said nothing to it.   
  
There was something dark and smoldering in Voldemort's eyes as he looked at his Wraith. Without taking his eyes from her, he spoke to Lucius. "Once their wounds are treated, have everyone gather back at Slytherin Manor. We will discuss this night's events there."   
  
"As you command, my Lord," Lucius replied, bowing deeply.   
  
"Come, my pet," Voldemort said to Wraith, who even in her weary state bristled slightly at the name. But when the Dark Lord offered his arm to her, she placed her hand upon it. They both turned and started down the graveled path away from the manor.   
  
Snape traded an uneasy look with Lucius as they too turned and walked back into the house to tend to their wounded fellows.    
  
  
  
  
Voldemort and his Wraith immediately returned to Slytherin Manor, finding it deserted save for Wormtail and the prisoners in the dungeon below. Ignoring the presence of Wormtail as most did, they started up the stairs in the entrance hall.   
  
Wraith walked in silence beside her Lord down the twisting halls and made to start towards her tower----But Voldemort grabbed her by her wrist and held her back.   
  
"We must speak," Voldemort told her, smiling slightly at the temper that had sparked in her eyes, "In my tower, pet. Come."   
  
"My Lord, I wish to change out of this ruined dress. Besides, the others will be waiting for us before long," Wraith said. Her voice was sharp, betraying her irritation.   
  
"Let them wait."   
  
Wraith sighed, but followed him nonetheless up the spiraling stairs of his tower. Once the door had closed behind them, Wraith pulled her wrist free of his grasp and walked over to the desk. She crossed her arms over her chest and all but glared at Voldemort as he slowly followed her.   
  
"I must admit that I am curious, pet," he said, tilting his head slightly to the side.   
  
"Curious about what, my Lord?" Wraith asked, frowning at him.   
  
"That werewolf bit you," Voldemort reminded her, "I am curious as to what effect the werewolf's curse would have on you."   
  
"None," Wraith told him shortly, "The 'curse' is a virus, my Lord; Magical in nature, yes, but a virus nonetheless. And neither magic nor virus can change my blood. It has already burned it out. I felt it."   
  
"Are you absolutely certain?" Voldemort asked her, taking hold of her arm, "I've not seen the effects of foreign magic in your blood before----"   
  
"The only thing foreign in my blood is  _you_ ," Wraith snapped.   
  
Voldemort suddenly jerked her towards him, swiftly pressing his mouth to hers and swallowing her anger. Wraith lost her breath, overwhelmed by the force with which he assaulted her mouth----But a scant moment later, she had wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and was kissing him just as fiercely. She bit down on his lip and he cursed, tearing away from her.   
  
They stared at one another, both struggling for breath. Wraith tilted her head to the side, waiting for him to strike again. Seeing the consent in her eyes, Voldemort took her again, ripping the cloak from her shoulders and pushing her over to the bookshelves.   
  
Pressing her roughly against them, he slipped his hands under the torn dress. His teeth nipped at her lips, though with less force than she had bitten him, but he almost seemed determined to devour her. His hands closed over her breasts, his touch ardent. Wraith bit at his ear, her breath soft as she moaned at his fervent caresses. Voldemort's breath was hot on her skin as he tore the dress further, intently on ripping the dress entirely from her.   
  
Wraith took one hand from him and fumbled behind them, seeking out the book that opened the secret entrance. Her fingers brushed over it and she grabbed it. The door opened behind her and they almost fell into it. Voldemort pushed her against the wall of the stair, unwilling to take his hands from her.   
  
"You've no idea," he whispered harshly in her ear, pressing himself against her, "no idea at all how you looked tonight. Standing over that werewolf, I've never seen you look so regal, even covered in blood."   
  
Wraith felt her blood run hot in her veins and there was a fever in her not unlike the thrill she'd felt during battle. She caught his mouth with hers, her tongue slipping between his lips and urging him on.   
  
But they broke apart at the sound of someone knocking at the door. Voldemort snarled in the door's direction, but he did not move. Wraith grabbed his face in her hands and turned it back to her.   
  
"If you answer that door, this will never happen," she told him firmly.   
  
Voldemort held her gaze for one tense moment. Then he reached into his robes, drawing out his wand of yew. He pointed it at the door, locking it with a muttered charm and he threw his wand over to land on the desk with a clatter. Wraith knew she had him then.   
  
She grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him up the stairs. The secret door closed of its own accord. Up in his hidden room, Voldemort tore at Wraith's dress until it fell to the floor at her feet. Wraith slipped out of his reach, falling back to sit on the edge of his bed. She bared her teeth in a sharp and dangerous smile as she hurried to pull off her boots and stockings. Voldemort watched her strip them off, his eyes bright, before he pulled off his robes and tossed them aside.   
  
It was only when they were both nude that Voldemort finally crossed over to the bed. He stood there a moment, looming over her as she slowly edged further back into the bed. She gazed up at him, the challenge in her eyes making them glitter. She tilted her chin up, as if daring him to take her.   
  
At last, he answered the challenge.   
  
He leaned down and then crawled into the bed over her, his eyes drifting over every inch of her. His hand traveled along her leg, over her stomach, before he curled it around the back of her neck, lifting her face closer to his. He took her mouth brutally as his hands explored and claimed her.   
  
Wraith writhed beneath him, every touch feeding the fire inside of her. If he truly meant to devour her, then she would devour him in return and the fire would consume them both until nothing remained but ash.   
  
When he could hold back no longer, Voldemort took her hips in his hands and drew her up. Wraith pressed her legs against his, trapping him as he did her. Their eyes met in that last moment----and with a hoarse cry, Voldemort drove himself into her. Wraith cried out at the force with which he entered her, but she moved with him, her touch as ardent, demanding and desperate as his.   
  
They rode the lust of battle that still lingered in both of their blood. Voldemort grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the pillow above her head and sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of her neck. He wanted control----but she would not let him have, not even here. She wriggled her hands free of his grasp and scored her fingernails down his back in retaliation. Voldemort hissed at the sharp pain, but it was only one more sensation to be had.   
  
The fire between them grew until they could almost hear it roaring within them. Wraith felt her power come to her call, spilling along the link between her and him. It spilled over them both, eliciting a sharp sound from Voldemort as he felt it surge under his skin like liquid flame. It drove him further to the edge and Wraith could feel it, felt just how close he was.   
  
 _Yes, yes. I will make you want me. I will make you need me. And I'll destroy you with it._  
  
A violent cry tore itself from her as she felt herself slip over that edge and into oblivion. A mere breath later, Voldemort went over with her.   
  
For a few breathless minutes, Voldemort clung to her as the aftershocks swept through him. Wraith ran her hand down the back of his neck in an almost soothing gesture, waiting.   
  
With a groan, Voldemort pushed off of her, falling to lie on his back on the bed beside her. They lay there in silence as their pulses slowed and their breath returned to them.   
  
Voldemort slipped a hand underneath her and pressed his lips to her shoulder, letting his head rest there. "You're looking fairly smug, pet," he muttered.   
  
Wraith laughed softly, turning her head to look at him. "I'm feeling pretty smug, actually," she told him with a sharp smile. She raised an eyebrow, "Satisfied?" she asked him, her voice low and dark.   
  
"Safe to say," Voldemort replied wryly, with own dark smile, "…for now."   
  
Wraith's smile widened, her teeth bared in an almost feral expression. She kissed him, slow and deep before she slipped out of his grasp. She stood and conjured a robe, slipping it over her naked skin. She looked over her shoulder at Voldemort, smirking still. "If we keep them waiting too long, they may come looking for us," she said, dark humor at the edges of her words. "I'm going to take a bath and dress again."   
  
"A sound plan," Voldemort said, sitting up. "Then you'll join us in the drawing room."   
  
"As my Lord commands," Wraith said dryly.   
  
Voldemort grinned darkly at her and was sorely tempted to grab her and take her again and the others gathering downstairs be damned. But he let her saunter out of the room despite the fleeting desire. They would, after all, have more time later.    
  
  
  
  
Little more than a half hour later, all of the Death Eaters were gathered in the drawing room of the Manor, seated along the long table that had been conjured. Voldemort stood at the head of the table, staring into the fire.   
  
Mere minutes passed between his arrival and that of his Wraith's. Voldemort turned when he felt her at the doorway and he smiled slowly at the sight of her.   
  
Wraith wore a gown of deep red, as if in tribute to the blood she had worn at the battle. The dress was edged with gold that shone in the firelight. As she stepped into the room, the gold links of the belt she wore chimed soft as bells. She walked slowly along the table, unable to hide the satisfied little smile that twisted her lips.   
  
As she passed by Bellatrix Lestrange, she paused long enough to run her fingertip along the angry red cut on the woman's cheek. Bellatrix hissed and jerked back, sneering at Wraith even as the girl grinned in reply. Bellatrix lifted a hand to her face, as if to wipe away the younger woman's touch, and she blinked to discover that the cut was healed. Her eyes narrowed in confusion and suspicion alike as Wraith continued along the length of the table.   
  
When she reached the head of the table, Wraith sank to one knee before Voldemort, sweeping her blood-red skirts around her like a fan. "My Lord," she murmured, her eyes half-closed.   
  
"My Lady."   
  
Wraith imagined that she could almost feel the power shift in the room. There was a sharp intake of breath around the table, though no one dared speak a word. Someone knocked over their goblet and Wraith knew without looking that it was Bellatrix.   
  
Wraith's smile was sharp, dark and sweet, as she lifted her eyes to the Dark Lord's. He held a hand out to her and she gently placed her hand within it, allowing him to help her to her feet. He kept her hand in his as they took their seats at the head of the table.   
  
Wraith settled back into the chair as if it were a throne, very nearly drunk on the new power she felt. Looking over each face seated at the table, she knew that things had changed. Now she was not only Lord Voldemort's Wraith, the Lady Death----she was his acknowledged lover,  _his_  Lady.   
  
Her eyes came to rest on Snape. His face was utterly unreadable; she saw nothing in his eyes. She kept her dark smile in place, but tilted her head forward in the slightest of nods to him----and felt the sheer relief when he nodded in return. For just a moment, Wraith saw the concern in his eyes before he masked it again. She let her gaze slide away from him, but it was difficult.   
  
Wraith tilted her chin up proudly, her smile sharp as glass, and felt the mantle of power settle comfortably on her shoulders. She would use it as she had always intended to, and woe betide any that stood in her way now.


	61. Deference

_"Hearts may break, but hearts are the toughest of muscles, able to pump for a lifetime, seventy times a minute, and scarcely falter along the way. Even dreams, the most delicate and intangible of things, can prove remarkably difficult to kill."_  
  
  
  
  
"My loyal Death Eaters," Voldemort said, idly stroking the back of his Wraith's hand as he spoke, "We were caught unawares this night----and we have paid the price for it. Lucius, how many were lost tonight?"   
  
"Ten, my Lord," Lucius replied quietly, "Including Avery and Rowle."   
  
Snape saw the barest flicker in Wraith's all but unreadable eyes----and he wondered.   
  
"We shouldn't be speaking of losses, my Lord," Rabastan Lestrange said fiercely, "We should be planning a return attack on Rafe and his beasts! If they think that they can get away with----"   
  
"They weren't Rafe's wolves," Wraith corrected him in a low voice.   
  
Rabastan flushed at being interrupted. "And maybe you're only saying that because you enjoyed the way he flirted with you," the man spat.   
  
A chill and terrible silence followed. Rabastan went pale and ducked his head, so certain that he would be punished for his outburst that he trembled in his chair.   
  
When nothing happened, he cautiously lifted his eyes to the Wraith. She smiled slowly, raising one slim brow. "Well," she said, laughter at the edge of her voice, "I  _did_  enjoy his flirting----but I speak the truth nonetheless. They were not his wolves." Wraith looked to the Dark Lord, who didn't seem to share her amusement at Rabastan's comment. "We will, however, need to speak with Rafe as soon as possible, my Lord. It is very likely that many of the wolves that attacked us were defectors from his pack. It's possible that he has information on some of those who escaped tonight."   
  
"My Lord," Snape said, drawing the Dark Lord's eyes from his Wraith, "When you first began negotiations with Rafe's pack, they brought you Katherine Talbot. Rafe mentioned that a group of rebels were found in his pack's territory. This…alliance between the wolves and rebels could have begun as far back as that."   
  
"But why would these wolves be so foolish as to attack? To turn against both the Dark Lord and Rafe both?" Bellatrix demanded.   
  
"Foolish?" Wraith repeated, "On the contrary, these wolves show a great deal more insight than Rafe and his ilk."   
  
"Explain, my Wraith," Voldemort ordered.   
  
Wraith turned her head to look at him. "My Lord, these wolves have obviously perceived your true stance towards werewolves as whole. They've guessed----correctly, I might add----that you have no intention on keeping your promises to Rafe." She tilted her head to the side with a small smirk. "We'll be lucky if Rafe never realizes this until it is too late."   
  
"Snape," Yaxley said, "You suggest that the wolves and rebels have been planning this for years." His tone implied that he was highly skeptical of the thought. "Why do you suppose they waited until tonight?"   
  
"Isn't it obvious?" Snape replied dryly, "Tonight was the first full moon since we presented Rafe and his pack with Remus Lupin. It was that offering that cemented the alliance between us and them. Before the night of the new moon, there was always the possibility that Rafe would change his mind about the alliance."   
  
"How did they know we would be at Malfoy's tonight?" Harper asked softly.   
  
Voldemort shared a look with Wraith. "That is something we need to figure out," Voldemort admitted.   
  
"Could they have…What about Vaisey?" Harper asked.  
  
"What about him?" Yaxley asked, rather sharply.   
  
"You sent him to infiltrate Talbot's group, didn't you?" Harper reminded him, "Vaisey still wears the Dark Mark----could Talbot have gotten the information from Vaisey?"   
  
"Perhaps we should pull Vaisey back in," Wraith said, "and make sure that his puppet strings are still good and tight."   
  
Yaxley scowled, his lip curling, but he did not dare speak.   
  
"That may be best," the Dark Lord said, "In any case, he has not gained us much in the way of information, nor gotten close enough to Talbot to be a threat. Perhaps we have postponed the boy's death long enough."   
  
Wraith saw Harper pale slightly and hoped that she was the only one who noticed. "My Lord," she said softly, leaning closer so that the Dark Lord alone could hear her, "When you first told me of this rebel problem----when you first instructed me to kill for you----you said that the rebels had sprung from the outer circle of your followers, not your Death Eaters. That wasn't quite true, was it?"   
  
Voldemort scowled slightly, but he nodded once.   
  
"Talbot was a Death Eater," Wraith murmured.   
  
"He was," Voldemort said slowly, "not for long, but he was."   
  
"So, it could have been Talbot himself that felt the Mark. Vaisey might not be involved at all."   
  
"It is possible."   
  
"We should bring him in anyhow," Wraith added, "I don't trust puppet strings, my Lord, especially when they've been in use for so long."   
  
Voldemort's mind drifted back to Crouch, the elder one, and how he had slipped through his grasp despite the Imperious Curse. "You make a good point, my Wraith," he told her.   
  
She nodded just slightly and turned her attention back to the rest. "There is one other thing that disturbed me tonight," she said, addressing the whole, "The werewolves themselves. Did it strike anyone else that they were too intelligent, too in control of their actions?"   
  
"Very," Rodolphus admitted, "Werewolves are usually ravenous beasts, incapable of conscious thought, but these----"   
  
"The Wolfsbane potion," Snape said, "It is the only option for what we saw tonight. Taken the week prior to the full moon, it allows a wizard to keep his own mind during the transformation. It was invented to make werewolves 'safer'," he added with a sneer.   
  
"And yet it can also make them far more dangerous," Wraith said musingly, "How clever of them. The wolf's strength combined with the man's wit."   
  
"My Lord, this means that the rebels have a very skilled potion masker among their ranks," Snape said grimly, "The Wolfsbane potion is by far one of the most difficult potions to brew."   
  
"My Lord, Talbot becomes more and more of a risk each day," Bellatrix said forcefully, leaning forward, "Let me hunt him down for you, put an end to this!"   
  
Voldemort glanced at his Wraith. It was her place to hunt down his traitors after all, but there were a great many other things that he wanted her to task her with. Meeting her eyes, Voldemort was surprised when she shrugged almost imperceptibly to him.   
  
"I will think on it, Bella," Voldemort said at last, looking back to her.   
  
The woman flushed, pleased with even his partial answer.   
  
"I shall speak with Rafe tomorrow night," the Dark Lord continued, "Return to your homes and recover. This was not the first, nor will it be the last time we are tested."   
  
Slowly realizing that they had been dismissed, the Death Eaters stood and began to file out of the room. The Dark Lord stood as well, but he moved to stand before the fireplace, gazing into the flames.   
  
Wraith waited until most of them had gone before she spoke out. "Quincy," she called.   
  
The man winced and stopped in the doorway.   
  
"Stay a moment more," Wraith instructed him.   
  
Voldemort turned, looking curiously between the two of them. Quincy haltingly walked up the table, before bowing deeply to Wraith.   
  
"There has been one further complication, my Lord," Wraith said simply. Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly as Wraith turned in her chair to look at him. "We didn't lose ten tonight," she told him.   
  
"Have we lost eleven, then?" Voldemort asked, glancing at Quincy sharply.   
  
"More like ten and a half," she replied, "Quincy, your arm."   
  
The Death Eater blinked at her before he pushed back the sleeve of his robes to reveal a swath of white bandages wrapped around his forearm. Slowly, he unwrapped the bandages and held up his arm so that the Dark Lord could see the bite.  Voldemort inhaled sharply and his eyes flashed with fury. He looked to his Wraith.   
  
"Quincy had an idea," Wraith said calmly, "If we can talk Rafe into allowing Quincy to join his pack, you will have a loyal Death Eater to report to you on Rafe's movements. Quincy can give us warning should Rafe choose to rebel. It's also possible that he could weed out those still among the pack that dislike our alliance."   
  
"…The idea has merit," Voldemort said after a moment's thought. "But I must admit, what other option do I have with this? You've been infected, Quincy. What other use are you to me?"   
  
Quincy paled dangerously and Wraith saw him sway slightly. "I could heal him," she said softly. Voldemort's eyes widened as he turned back to look at her. Wraith sighed and pushed herself up from the chair, walking around it to stand beside Voldemort. "It's early still," she said, "There is still a possibility that I can burn the curse from his blood."   
  
"Can you truly?" "I could," Wraith said, "But I'd advise against it."   
  
She shot Quincy a sharp look of her own and the man cleared his throat. "M-my Lord," he said, "I----I am of little use to you as it is," he admitted, "I am simply another cog in the wheel, one of many. But if…if I were to infiltrate Rafe's pack, I could be of  _real_  use to you. I could give you something of value."   
  
"And what if my plans for Rafe and his wolves include their someday extermination?" Voldemort asked him, his voice low and dangerous. "What then, Quincy?"   
  
Quincy closed his eyes as if to gather his thoughts. "My life is over," the man said at last, "This bite ended it. I have two options. I can either admit defeat and lie down and die----or I can find a new life. I am not ready to die, my Lord. Let me continue to be of service to you."   
  
Wraith blinked at Quincy, surprisingly impressed. She touched a hand to Voldemort's arm, making him look down at her. She raised a questioning brow at him.   
  
"Very well," Voldemort said, looking back to the Death Eater, "When we speak with Rafe about tonight's attack, we will also discuss you." He gestured rather impatiently, "You're dismissed."   
  
Quincy breathed a sigh of relief and bowed deeply. "Thank you, my Lord."   
  
Voldemort and Wraith watched as he turned and quickly left the room. Alone now, Voldemort lifted a hand and brushed it lightly down Wraith's cheek. She closed her eyes at the light touch, smiling darkly.   
  
"Could you really have healed him?" Voldemort asked her, dropping his hand.   
  
"Can we discuss this later?" Wraith asked slowly, lifting her eyes to his.   
  
Voldemort smiled and slipped one hand around the back of her neck, drawing her closer. "Let's discuss it now," he said firmly.   
  
Wraith sighed, rolling her eyes skyward. "Yes, I believe I could have healed him. Tonight, at least, before the curse became a part of who he was. The fact that I felt my blood burn it away tells me that it's possible."   
  
"Could you cure the curse in someone like Rafe?"  
  
"I don't think so," Wraith admitted, "Once they're actually werewolves, it's not something I can just take away. It changes them, changes their physical being. I can't make a man something he's not."   
  
"Are you so certain?" Voldemort asked.   
  
"Fairly so," Wraith replied, "You recall that the night I first met Rafe, I cured the cut on his face? My magic didn't see the curse as a disease or infection, it simply  _was_."   
  
"Interesting," Voldemort said slowly. "Still, the fact that you could cure a bite or scratch will no doubt be useful----Especially if Talbot uses the wolves again."   
  
"Very true," Wraith agreed.   
  
"Shall we retire now, pet?" Voldemort asked her, threading her hair through his fingers.   
  
"Don't call me pet," Wraith retorted, even as she stepped closer and slipped her arm around his.   
  
"It's a term of endearment, I promise," Voldemort said around a smirk.   
  
"You and endearment do not go hand in hand," Wraith told him, "Find another one."                  
  
She lifted a hand, touching the side of his face and drawing him down to her. She pressed her lips to his, deep and entreatingly, before she broke away. Wraith all but sauntered out of the room, casting a dark look over her shoulder at him.  
  
  
  
  
Wraith lay in the dark beside the Dark Lord, drifting on the shimmering edge between awareness and sleep.  Yet even on that edge, her mind was racing, picking over all that had transpired throughout the night.   
  
"I can practically hear your mind whirling with thought, my Wraith," Voldemort said, breaking the silence.   
  
"Hm?" Wraith had barely heard him.   
  
"Having regrets, pet?" he asked her.   
  
"No," Wraith said, turning her head to look at him, "Not in the slightest," she added with a sly smirk, "How could I? When I worked so very hard to get here?"   
  
Voldemort laughed darkly under his breath, running his hand down her bare shoulder. "Then what makes your mind so heavy?" he asked.   
  
Wraith hesitated in her answer, looking up at the ceiling. Then, with a sigh, she sat up and moved over to straddle Voldemort's waist. He looked surprised, but his hands drifted up her torso almost automatically----But there was little amorous about her as she gazed down at him. It was as if she had only wanted to be certain that she had his attention.   
  
"…You have not surrounded yourself with the cleverest of men, my Lord," Wraith told him flatly. "They are ruthless, and cunning in their own ways----but the only truly clever one among them is Severus."   
  
"True enough," Voldemort agreed slowly, "But they serve their purpose."   
  
"You need better men," Wraith said, "if you sincerely intend to keep all that you take."   
  
"Ah, my darling Wraith," the Dark Lord murmured, smiling up at her, "Such sovereignty in your voice. It is in your blood to rule. To reign."   
  
 _And yet I am your servant_. Wraith did not give voice to the thought, though she was sorely tempted.   
  
"But what need have I for better men?" Voldemort asked softly, "when I have you?"   
  
Wraith smiled slowly, leaning down to touch her lips to his. "You are so…"   
  
Wraith didn't finish the sentence, but Voldemort's curiosity was peaked.   
  
"So?" he said, "Go on, my Wraith, and say it. I'm so…what?"   
  
Wraith sat up again, smirking down at him. "Full of shit."   
  
Shock briefly registered in Voldemort's eyes before he smiled wryly. Twisted her down, he pinned her beneath him. Wraith laughed breathlessly as his teeth nipped at her neck. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood," he told her, "If anyone else had said that to me, I'd kill them."  
  
"You wouldn't risk losing my power over something so trivial," Wraith said tauntingly.   
  
"Also true," Voldemort said grudgingly.   
  
Wraith laughed again and pressed her lips to his shoulders, tracing over the red marks where her nails had scored his skin. Voldemort rested his head at the crook of her shoulder, breathing deeply. Wraith felt herself drift closer to sleep again and she fought it off. She pushed gently, but firmly at his shoulders and Voldemort released her.   
  
"It's late," Wraith said, "and I'm exhausted." She touched her hand to his face and smirked slightly. "I'm going to bed."   
  
Before he could protest, she slipped away from him, disentangling herself from the sheets. She stood and crossed to where her dress had fallen. As she was slipping it back on, she heard Voldemort moving behind her. Lacing it up, she turned to see that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her.   
  
"That is a lovely dress," he said when their eyes met, "but I think it looks better on the floor."   
  
Wraith grinned, sharp and bright, "Goodnight, my Lord," she said dryly, "Sleep well."   
  
"You as well, pet."   
  
Wraith stuck her tongue out at him as she turned and left.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith walked the halls between the Dark Lord's tower and her own slowly. She held Snape's cloak, wrapped tight, in her arms. She had not lied when she'd told the Dark Lord that she was exhausted. But she felt strangely content, weary as she was. The game had changed once more, but in just the way she'd planned for.   
  
When she reached her stairs and started to climb, she felt warning bells going off in the back of her mind. Indeed, as she reached the top of the staircase, she saw someone sitting on the top step, waiting for her. Wraith stopped dead in her tracks.   
  
"Severus," she said, her voice forcibly light.   
  
Snape looked at her in silence and slowly stood. There was something harsh and almost tangible in the air between them; something she did not want to step into.   
  
Steeling herself against it and the cold she saw in his eyes, Wraith took those few last steps up to him and reached around him to open her door. "Come in then," she said dismissively, walking around him. "How long have you been waiting there?" she asked him as he closed the door behind them.   
  
"Since the meeting ended."   
  
Which had been several hours before. Wraith fought the urge to blush. She straightened her spine and tilted her head up just slightly. She had no reason to feel ashamed. So why did she now, with him standing there with accusation in his eyes?   
  
Silently, she offered his cloak back to him. It took a moment for Snape to take it from her.   
  
"It's done, Severus," Wraith said sharply, cutting through the air between them, "There's no going back now. Nor would I want to. You know perfectly well that I planned for this."   
  
"I am well aware," Snape said, his voice low.   
  
"Then what were you doing, knocking on his door earlier?" Wraith demanded, "I know that it was you."   
  
"I was simply there to let the Dark Lord know that most of the others had arrived."   
  
" _Don't lie_!" Wraith snapped suddenly, "Don't you ever  _fucking_  lie! Not to me!"   
  
Anger broke through the ice in Snape's face. "Fine," he said shortly, "I saw his face when he looked at you, out there on the battlefield. I knew what he intended to do. I had hoped to postpone it a little longer."   
  
Wraith had already guessed the truth of it, but to hear it confirmed infuriated her nonetheless. She turned sharply on her heels, away from him, as she tried to reign in her temper. "He is finally where I want him," she said, "I've been trying to play this weakness of his for months----You  _knew_  this and you still tried to stop me! Why?"   
  
"If you let him too close, he will see things that you don't want him to see, Wraith," Snape told her firmly.   
  
"And the same applies to him, Severus," Wraith retorted, looking back, "I know full well that I'm playing with a double-edged sword here. And you—are—still—lying—to—me." She closed the distance between them, putting her face very close to his. "You think that I can't see it in your face?" she hissed at him, "That same jealousy you had for Edwin? Why can you not stand it when I let someone else close?" she demanded of him, putting her hands on his chest and pushing him back a step, "Must you have me all to yourself?"   
  
"And what of your  _Edwin_?" Snape said harshly, his lip curling in a sneer, "Do you honestly believe that he could ever forgive you for this? For betraying him with the Dark Lord himself? What makes you think that he won't be disgusted with you?"   
  
Wraith froze.   
  
" _GET OUT!_ " she shouted, " _Go_! Leave me  _be_!"   
  
Snape threw down the cloak roughly to the floor and stormed out of the room, granting her wish and leaving her alone.   
  
The following silence swallowed Wraith and she felt something break inside her. She choked on a sob and quickly pressed a hand to her lips, holding it back. She breathed deeply, not allowing the tears in her eyes to fall.    
  
She took one faltering step towards her bed and then another. She all but collapsed on the edge of it, her hand immediately reached for the chain that rested near the center of it.   
  
Wraith held the chain up, her eyes locked upon the ring hanging from it. She sat on the edge of her bed and pressed the ring to her heart. "I'm sorry," she murmured into the silence. "I'm sorry…"


	62. Grey-Sky Morning

_"If I'm walking on thin ice, I might as well dance my way across"_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith did not sleep that night, despite her exhausted, both physical and emotional. Instead, she lay silent in her bed, eyes open and unseeing until the sun had only begun to touch the sky. When she could remains till no longer, she rose from her sleepless bed, thinking to calm her whirring mind with a long bath.   
  
Afterwards, she sat beside her window as she brushed through her hair. The sky was cloudy and grey, rather similar to her mood.   Wraith pulled her hair back, twisting it into an efficient braid and went to her armoire to dress. As she reached inside, her fingers brushed over the black dress that Narcissa had given her ages ago. Not knowing quite why, Wraith pulled the dress out.   
  
Slipping it on, she found herself thinking back to the night she had first worn it. It had been the very night that the Dark Lord had brought her out of Azkaban—her first night of freedom. The dress was still a little too big, the hem trailing on the ground just slightly, but Wraith liked the way its sleeves fell over her wrists. Despite the fact that the dress was off-the-shoulder, she felt almost hidden in it.   
  
Wraith glanced at the window and realized that morning had actually come. She left her tower, walking slowly through the halls of the Manor. It seemed to breathe deeply around her, still lost in sleep like the rest of its inhabitants. Wraith didn't think she'd ever felt so very calm within its walls before.   
  
It wasn't until she had reached the entrance hall that she realized that she wasn't the only one awake. She heard the door of the dungeon open and shut long before she saw just who it was in the hall with her. For one wild moment, Wraith assumed that it was Thorfinn as it had so often been in the past. But she shook her the moment the thought even entered her mind.   
  
"My Lady?"   
  
Wraith lifted her eyes to see Harper and she couldn't help but smile. "Harper," she said, holding out her hand to him.   
  
He immediately crossed the distance between them to take her hand in his. "I didn't get a chance to ask you last night—are you alright?"   
  
"I'm fine," Wraith replied, "Tired, yes, but—I'm fine."   
  
"Pardon my impudence, my Lady," Harper said blandly, "But you do not look 'fine'. You look like hell."   
  
"I didn't sleep last night," Wraith admitted.   
  
"Oh? Did our Lord keep you so occupied?"   
  
Wraith laughed tiredly, shaking her head. "He did for a great deal of the night, yes," she admitted wryly.   
  
"Something's wrong," Harper said, "Something's upset you."   
  
It was not a question. Wraith closed her eyes, taking a breath.   
  
"I'd rather not talk about it now," she said softly.   
  
"My Lady…you know that you can trust me, don't you?" Harper asked her, "If you need a shoulder…?"   
  
"Thank you, Antony," Wraith said sincerely, touched by his offer. "I may take you up on that….just not right now."   
  
"Okay," Harper said with a slight nod. He squeezed her hand before letting it go. He started to say something else, but Wraith held up a hand to stop him. Her head snapped around towards the front doors, her eyes narrowed. "…My Lady?" Harper whispered, following her gaze.   
  
"There's someone at the boundary of the Manor," she explained quietly, "I'm going to go take a look. It feels like their waiting for something."   
  
"Be careful," Harper said, rather needlessly.   
  
Wraith nodded her head absently and was gone. She moved quickly down the path, cutting through the morning fog. When she came close to the border, she saw the intruder through the mist and was unsurprised to find who it was.   
  
"Rafe," she called, making him turn to see her, "What brings you here so—oh."   
  
As she neared him, she caught sight of his face. There was a deep set of claw marks carved into his cheek, running down his neck, his bottom lip was split and he sported one impressive black eye.   
  
Wraith stopped a few feet from him and raised an eyebrow. "I see that your night was as least as interesting as ours," she said dryly, looking him up and down.   
  
Rafe sneered and winced as the expression twisted his ruined lip. Touching a hand gingerly to his lip, he glowered at her. "I need to speak to the Dark Lord— _now_."   
  
"If you insist," Wraith said, "I dare say that he'll want to speak to  _you_  as well. He had intended to speak with you tonight in any case."   
  
"Did he?" Rafe said, his glare softening to curiosity.   
  
Wraith gestured to him and turned on her heel. "Come."   
  
Rafe followed her up the path back to the Manor. "You say that your night was interesting," he said as they reached the doors, "May I inquire as to what made it so interesting?"   
  
Wraith glanced at him, eyes sharp. "…We were attacked last night," she told him, striding quick paced down the hall, "by wizards…and by wolves."   
  
Rafe's hand lashed out, grabbing her by the arm and turning her 'round. "They were not  _my_  wolves," he growled, his face a mere inch from hers.   
  
"I know," Wraith said, quite calmly. She regarded him with cold eyes. "Release me," she said, very softly.   
  
Rafe did so, taking a step back and giving her space.   
  
"And if you value your life, Rafe—" she added, "— _never_  do that again."   
  
Rafe nodded slowly. "I apologize," he said, his tone not quite meek."It has been…a very long night."   
  
"Apology accepted," Wraith said simply. She turned and started down the hall again. Rafe followed, falling into step behind her. They walked in silence up the staircase.   
  
"Lupin escaped us," Rafe said into that silence.   
  
"I find myself unsurprised," Wraith said dryly.   
  
Rafe scowled. "How angry will the Dark Lord be, do you suppose?"   
  
"Rafe, if you are very lucky, you will walk out of here without blood loss."   
  
"It was not our fault! We were attacked! They must have helped him out. It's the only explanation!"   
  
Wraith stopped and looked back to him. "It  _is_  your fault, wolf," she told him coldly, "in that you did not kill him the moment you have him in your grasp."   
  
Rafe blinked at her, surprised by the sheer annoyance in her voice. "There's truth in that," he admitted grudgingly.   
  
"More than you know," Wraith muttered. She led him up to the bottom of the Dark Lord's tower and then held up a hand. "Wait here," she instructed, "I will wake him."   
  
She left him there at the base of the stairs. Moving quickly, Wraith opened the secret door behind the bookshelves and hurried up the stairs there. At the top of the stairs, though, she paused.   
  
Voldemort slept deeply, completely unaware of her presence. Despite her earlier haste, Wraith walked slowly across the room to his bed, standing over him. She reached out a hand and gently stroked his cheek. She was smiling, though she had not realized it.   
  
Voldemort's eyes snapped open and he grabbed her wrist. Seeing his Wraith's soft smile, he relaxed. "Wraith," he murmured, easing his hold on her wrist, but not yet releasing her.   
  
"My Lord," she said, "Rafe is here."   
  
A scowl passed over his face and he sat up. "Why is he here?" he demanded slowly.   
  
"It seems that his pack was attacked last night, just as we were."   
  
Voldemort rose from his bed to dress. Wraith waited until he had drawn on his robes before she spoke again.   
  
"They lost Remus Lupin."   
  
Voldemort froze where he stood and then he cursed fervently, spinning around to see her. "You are certain?" he asked sharply.   
  
"So said out werewolf," she replied.   
  
Voldemort cursed again and started for the stairs.   
  
"My Lord?" Wraith called, coming up behind him.   
  
Voldemort looked back at her and she raised an eyebrow at him, tilting her head to one side. He smiled just slightly and reached out, slipping his arm around her and drawing her closer. He leaned down, brushing his mouth lightly over hers before deepening the touch. Wraith curled her hand around the back of his neck, her lips smiling even as they opened in invitation beneath his. They stayed that way for a moment, disregarding the fact that Rafe was waiting impatiently below.   
  
Finally, Voldemort pulled back, running his hand down her back before he released her. "Good morning, pet," he murmured.   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed almost playfully. "Good morning," she said back, "…Voldemort."   
  
There was a breath of silence as brief shock went through the Dark Lord's eyes—but then he smiled slowly. He offered his arm to her and she curled her hand over it, walking with him down the steps.   
  
"Go and fetch the wolf, my dear," Voldemort instructed as he took his chair behind the desk.   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith replied with a small smirk. She went down the winding stairs to see Rafe pacing back and forth in the hall there. She gestured silently for him to follow.   
  
Once they had reached the tower room, Wraith made her way around the desk to stand to the side and slightly behind the Dark Lord's throne-like chair. She placed one slim hand on the high back of the chair and regarded Rafe, once more, with cool eyes.            
  
The Dark Lord's own gaze was sharp as he took in the wounds evident on the werewolf's face. "I see my Wraith did not lie—you were attacked last night."   
  
"Yes, Dark Lord," Rafe replied, nodding tersely. "While my pack was following the blood trail left by Lupin, we were set upon by other wolves—and there were wizards among them as well."   
  
"This has the taste of the familiar," Voldemort said slowly, "Truly; you could be describing precisely what occurred last night at Lucius Malfoy's home."   
  
"The Wraith did mention that your Death Eaters had faced a similar attack," Rafe said carefully.   
  
"Tell me, Rafe," Voldemort said, never taking his eyes from the wolf's face, "How many did you lose in the attack last night?"   
  
Rafe paled just slightly. "Fifteen," he replied quietly, "It will likely be seventeen before the day is out. Two of my wolves linger at Death's door." He took a breath and his eyes flickered in Wraith's direction. "…And how many did you lose, Dark Lord?"   
  
"Ten," Voldemort told him shortly.   
  
"They were not my wolves, Dark Lord," Rafe said, "I swear it."   
  
"So says my Wraith," Voldemort said lightly, stroking his hand down Wraith's side, "And I trust her word on it. However, we do believe that some of these wolves  _used_  to belong to you."   
  
"That is true," Rafe said with a slight snarl, "I did not recognize many of the wolves—but as I was changed at the time, my mind was not my own—but I knew their scents nonetheless and  _that_  memory remains. So yes, some were wolves that left my pack."   
  
"Did any of your current pack deflect in the battle last night?" Wraith asked.   
  
"No," Rafe said, "Of that, I'm sure. The wolves that I recognized have been slowly drifting away from the pack for the last few years."   
  
"Since the night that you found that band of rebels in your territory?" Wraith asked, "The night that you captured Katherine Talbot?"   
  
Rafe blinked, looking down and frowning as he thought hard. "…Yes," he said at last, "Yes, it began shortly after that." His head snapped back up. "The wizards last night—they were more of those traitors?"   
  
"Yes," Voldemort said, "It seems that the two groups have banded together in response to the alliance between us."   
  
"Rafe, we need to know all that you can tell us about the wolves that have left your pack in the last few years," Wraith said, "What you know, even if it is only a little, could help me to track down those that escaped last night."   
  
"I will speak with my pack," Rafe said at once, "and see what they remember. I myself was not close to any of those that left."   
  
"Be quick about it," Wraith told him shortly, "Before the trail goes cold."   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Rafe replied. "I will see to it at once."   
  
"Another matter, Rafe," Voldemort said, "Before you take your leave."   
  
Rafe froze where he stood, warned by the chill in the Dark Lord's voice.   
  
"Remus Lupin escaped in the midst of the attack, did he not?" Voldemort said, his voice soft and dangerous.   
  
"…He did," Rafe said, "We lost his trail just before we were attacked. I believe that the wizards helped him to flee, covering his trail so that we could not follow it further. There was no trace of him at all when we looked this morning."   
  
"You understand, then, that if we capture him again, we will kill him straight off."   
  
"Yes," Rafe said snappishly, "I understand that. Our accord will still stand."   
  
"Good," Voldemort said evenly, "That is all…for now."   
  
"Not quite, my Lord," Wraith said, stepping away from him and walking around the edge of the desk towards Rafe, "If my Lord consents, I will enlighten Rafe on Quincy's condition while I see him to the door."   
  
"Very well," Voldemort said, nodding once.   
  
"Come then," Wraith said to the wolf.   
  
Rafe hesitated a moment before he bowed shortly to Voldemort and then turned to follow Wraith out of the tower.      
  
Wraith waited until they were a distance away from the Dark Lord's tower before she spoke. "What our Lord said was true," she told him, "We lost ten in the attack and many were severely injured, including myself— However, there was one survivor that deserves note." She paused, glancing at Rafe. "His name is Quincy—and he was bitten."   
  
Awareness dawned on the werewolf's face. "You wish me to take him into my pack," he said slowly.   
  
"I do," Wraith said, "The Dark Lord will have no use for him in his condition."   
  
A shadow passed through Rafe's eyes, but he nodded in understanding. "I'll speak with Ze'eva," he said after a moment's thought, "I accept no one into the pack without discussing it with her."   
  
"Get back to us soon;" Wraith told him, "It will take a weight off my mind."   
  
"As you wish…my Lady."   
  
Wraith smirked and fell silent as they continued through the echoing halls of the Manor. When they reached the staircase that descended into the entrance hall, Wraith slowed her steps and cast her powers out around her, looking for any sign that someone could overhear. When she found nothing, she held out a hand and stopped Rafe from starting down the steps. He looked at her curiously, but said nothing.   
  
"…You know why we were both attacked," Wraith murmured very softly, "Why those wolves object so strongly to you allying yourself with the Dark Lord."   
  
Rafe clenched his law, as if forbidding himself to speak. Wraith stared at him with sharp and piercing eyes.   
  
"I know," Rafe whispered curtly. "What of it?" he snarled, stepping past her.   
  
"Then you know perfectly well that Dark Lord doesn't intend to keep his word to you."   
  
Rafe stopped and spun around to face her. "I just told you—I  _know_. I know  _perfectly_  well that no werewolf will have a better life under the rule of your Lord," he said, coming back up the steps once more, "I also suspect that he intends to kill us all off at the first  _chance_. But as I said:  _What of it_?" He was very close to Wraith now; she could hear the low wolfen growl in his throat when he spoke.   
  
"Then why are you here?" she asked in a whisper.   
  
"Did the Dark Lord order you to ask these questions?" Rafe demanded suddenly, a jolt of fear in his eyes.   
  
"No," Wraith said, "I ask them myself. The Dark Lord thinks you a fool. I know better." She lifted a hand and pressed the tip of her index finger to Rafe's forehead and pushed lightly, making him take a step back from her. She smiled darkly. "Now answer my question; why are you here?"   
  
"' _Keep your friends close—and your enemies closer_ '," Rafe quoted under his breath, "There's nothing to be gained with fighting against him. Only the fools persist in it. With this alliance, I have bought my pack a little extra time; maybe even a little insight into the Dark Lord's future intentions. And at the first small sign that he will turn on us—I will take my pack out of his reach."   
  
"Why not take them now?" Wraith asked.   
  
"Too much risk," Rafe said, "He will send hunters to seek us out in any case, but I will not instigate such a hunt. I want my people  _safe_."   
  
"So you are content to play his puppet until that time?"   
  
Rafe growled, the sound a low rumble in the air between them. "Yes," he said, "if that is what it takes to keep my people safe, I will be the Dark Lord's puppet." He turned and was halfway down the stairs before Wraith's voice reached him again.   
  
"Would you rather be mine?"          
  
Rafe came to an abrupt halt. Slowly, he turned, looking back up the stairs at her. "Is there a difference?" he finally asked.   
  
"Yes," Wraith told him, descending the stairs, "I  _keep_  my promises."   
  
She reached out a hand, running her fingertips along the claw marks on his face and neck. Rafe felt the marks burn and then fade. When he touched his cheek, he was unsurprised to find the skin unbroken.   
  
"What does being  _your_  puppet entail exactly?"   
  
"For now?" Wraith said, touching a seemingly idle hand to Rafe's cheek, "Your silence. In time? That you answer when I call on you."   
  
"And in return?" Rafe asked, his words so soft that she could barely hear them. But there was no mistaking the craving in his eyes.   
  
"I protect what is mine, wolf," Wraith murmured, "Be mine—and I will protect your people."   
  
"I am not keen to belong to anyone," Rafe told her.   
  
"It would not be forever," Wraith replied evenly, with the slightest of smirks. "I may have need of you and your wolves in time. Serve me as you serve him— _help_  me—and I will help you in return."   
  
"I have your promise on that?" Rafe asked her.   
  
"You have my promise." Wraith held out her hand to him. "Do we have an accord?" she asked slowly.   
  
Rafe hesitated, still considering. But after a moment, he touched his palm to hers. At the contact of skin to skin, there was a spark of light and Rafe felt something shock his hand. He pulled it back quickly and turned a fresh glare on the young woman who observed him with impassive eyes.   
  
"And what was  _that_  about?" he demanded.   
  
"Just a little insurance," Wraith replied, her lips twisting into a dark smile, "To ensure your silence. You will not be able to speak of this…and I will know when you try." She almost laughed at the insulted look on the wolf's face. "I'm sorry, but I can leave nothing to chance. We will speak of this again, but you must be patient."   
  
Rafe sighed, turning his eyes down to the floor. When he looked back up, there was a slight smile on his face. "You are a sharp little girl, you know that?"   
  
"I know."   
  
The wolf's smile widened. "Until next time then," he said lightly.   
  
"Watch your back, Rafe," Wraith warned, "The Dark Lord thinks it unlikely that last night's attack will be the only one—and I'm inclined to agree."   
  
"Thanks for the head's up," Rafe said. "Good day, Lady Wraith."   
  
"Good day, wolf," Wraith replied pertly. She then turned and started back up the staircase.   
  
Rafe stared after her a moment before he too turned and headed back towards the front doors.      
  
  
  
  
The little house on the cliffs set above the sea was filled with a melancholy air. It currently held for too many people for the little space, but they seemed to huddle together as if for warmth or comfort. The night had been difficult to get through and the morning had dawned cold and grey.   
  
Sitting at the kitchen table, Tonks clutched a mug of hot tea in shaking hands, her breath catching as she fought not to cry. Behind her, Fleur worked inattentively, washing the dishes from breakfast that morning, but she was staring blankly out the window as she did so.   
  
She and Tonks had never much gotten along in the past—they were simply too different from one another—But now they had something in common, something terrible. Neither one knew if their husbands were alive or dead.   
  
Both women turned quickly at the sound of someone entering the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley glanced at both of them and smiled weakly. "Fleur, dear, you're getting suds all over the floor," she said gently. She flicked her wand at the soapy mess and it was gone.   
  
Fleur sniffed delicately and turned back to her task. "Where is 'Arry?" she asked, "He was not at breakfast this morning."   
  
"He's just getting a little more sleep," Mrs. Weasley replied, "Heaven knows the poor boy needs some rest. Ron was just going to wake him now." She crossed the room, touching a comforting hand to Tonk's shoulder as she passed. Tonks wiped at the wetness on her cheek and gave Mrs. Weasley a small smile of her own. Without a word, Mrs. Weasley took up a dish towel and began to dry the dishes that Fleur washed. "Our boys are fine," she said firmly, though her voice broke just slightly, "I'm sure of it. They'll not make widows of us yet, ladies."   
  
Tonks laughed weakly and finally took a sip of her tea. She ran a hand through her hair, which was currently a mousey brown color. She couldn't get it to change, not even for Teddy.   
  
Fleur glanced at the other two women and felt herself smile just slightly. She touched her hand to her mother-in-law's wrist and smiled a little brighter when Mrs. Weasley glanced up at her and smiled back. Fleur glanced briefly out the window before she looked back down at the sink.  
  
And then she looked out again, leaning towards the window and frowning.   
  
"… _Quelqu'un vient_ ," she murmured, "Someone's coming."   
  
Mrs. Weasley leaned over to look out the window as well. Then she was gone, flying through the door to the living room. " _Someone's coming! There's someone in the yard_!"   
  
Pounding footsteps echoed on the stair as several people came flying down them, hurrying into the little kitchen, wands out. Harry stood directly in front of the kitchen door, holding up a hand to the others to keep them still. A few moments later, there came a single knock on the door.   
  
"Who's there?" Harry demanded loudly.   
  
"Remus Lupin. I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be called by her surname. And if that is Harry, then I am the one who taught you how to cast a Patronus, which takes the form of a stag. I was told to come here in case of emergency."   
  
"Lupin," Harry breathed before he surged forward to open the door.   
  
Lupin all but fell inside the little house, looking around the faces already crowded there, and he smiled broadly. "Good morning, all," he said cheerfully.   
  
Tonks slowly stood up from the table, eyes wide. Lupin met her eyes and he melted. "Dora," he murmured, pushing through the rest to meet her. She fell into his arms and began to cry in his shoulder.   
  
"Are you alright?" Harry asked quickly, "What happened? What did they do to you?"   
  
"Gave me to the werewolves," Lupin replied, still clutching his wife close. "And the werewolves had planned to make sport of me last night during the full moon—but I got away. I ran into some wizards at the edge of the wolves' territory. They were part of the rebellion against their former Dark Lord. I think it was their attack on Rafe and the rest of the pack that allowed me to escape. I came here as fast as I could without being followed."   
  
It was Ron who spoke next, almost talking over Lupin's last words. "Do you know what happened to my dad?" he asked, "or Bill? They didn't make it back after we tried to get you out of there."   
  
"They're alive," Lupin said, recalling what the Wraith had told him, "They're prisoners, but they're alive."   
  
Fleur let out a soft sound and crumpled to the floor. Mrs. Weasley knelt beside her, the relief weakening her as well.   
  
Lupin kissed Tonk's forehead and smiled warmly at her. "I need a moment with my wife," he told those gathered in the kitchen, "I'll tell you all I can, but I'm bloody tired."   
  
"We can talk later," Harry said. He took a step forward and threw an arm around Lupin's shoulders. "Thank god, you're back," he told his former teacher.   
  
Lupin took Tonks by the hand and they slipped out of the house entirely, stepping out into the little garden beyond.   
  
"Remus," Tonks said, pulling Lupin back into her arms, "I thought you were dead!"   
  
Lupin held her tight, delighted to see that her brown hair was fading into a bright and happy pink once more. "I would be," he said quietly, "…if not for  _her_."   
  
Tonks pulled back abruptly, frowning at him. "What do you mean?"   
  
"It was her, Dora," Lupin said, "It was the Wraith. She helped me just like she helped you and our son."   
  
Tonks stared at him, her mouth agape. "I don't understand," she whispered, "I don't even know why she let me escape with Teddy…"   
  
"I'm not even going to guess at her motives," Lupin said, "But one thing that she made clear is that we're not to speak of it to anyone. Let's keep this to ourselves for now, yes?"   
  
Tonks nodded solemnly.   
  
"Okay," Lupin said, pulling her close again. "Where's Teddy?" he asked.   
  
"Still asleep," Tonks replied, smiling brightly, "Come on, let's go and wake him. He'll want to see his dad."


	63. Hubris

_"You don't get explanations in real life. You just get moments that are absolutely, utterly, inexplicably odd."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith barely made it to the top of the staircase again when she felt the bone deep weakness overtake her. With a muttered curse, she stumbled forward as her legs gave out on her, managing to lean back against the wall before she slid down to the floor. With a frustrated sigh, she let her head fall forward and she waited for it to pass.   
  
All too soon, she heard footsteps hurrying up the staircase and she cursed again. When Harper came to the top of the stairs, his eyes immediately found her there against the wall. "My Lady? What happened?" he asked as he hurried forward to kneel beside her.   
  
"Nothing, I just overextended myself a bit," she replied evenly. "I'll be fine—I just needed to rest a moment."   
  
"Are you sure?" Harper asked.   
  
"I'm sure," she told him, smiling just a little.   
  
"Do you want me to go?" Harper asked carefully.   
  
"No, stay if you like," Wraith said. Before she had even spoken the last word, her eyes narrowed and she felt a flash of panic. "Help me stand," she told Harper suddenly. "Quickly, please."   
  
Harper took her under her arm and carefully pulled her up. Wraith leaned heavily against the wall, but she was glad to be on her feet when Voldemort and Snape came around the corner but a second later. Harper let go of her arm and took a step back before the two had seen them. He knew his Lady well enough to know that she had not wanted to be seen so weak in front of them.   
  
"My Lord," Wraith said in greeting.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort replied, pausing before her and Harper. "The wolf has gone?"   
  
"He has," Wraith told him, smirking slightly. "I spoke to him about Quincy."   
  
"And what did he say?"   
  
"He has to speak with Ze'eva before he can give an answer," she said.   
  
"He must speak with his  _sister_?" Voldemort asked, a little incredulous.   
  
"He must speak with his second-in-command," Wraith corrected.   
  
"I see," Voldemort said, frowning, "I trust you told him that we will want a swift reply?"   
  
"I did, yes," Wraith assured him, "I'm sure we'll have an answer soon."   
  
Voldemort studied her face and Wraith saw the way his eyes flickered over how she was leaning against the wall. "I was just walking Severus out," the Dark Lord said slowly, "Why don't you join us?" There was a challenge in his tone and Wraith knew better than to answer it.   
  
"No, that's alright," she said evenly, "So, are you returning to Hogwarts, Severus?" she asked, turning her eyes briefly to Snape. Her voice was perfectly pleasant, but Harper imagined there was poison beneath the sweet.   
  
"I am," Snape replied, his tone a match to hers, "Our Lord thought it best that I return to my post in case the rebels and their wolves attack there next."   
  
Harper was trying his very best not to stare at the two of them, but he had to wonder if the Dark Lord had noticed the barbs in their voices.   
  
"While we're on the subject, Lady Wraith, I must ask," Snape continued, "Is the spell you set around the borders of the school grounds still active?"   
  
"It is," Wraith told him, "If an enemy crosses the border, I will know."   
  
"Can I trust that you will give me ample warning?"   
  
Wraith glanced off to the side and the subtle venom in her voice dissipated as she answered softly, "Of course."   
  
"I thank you, my Lady," Snape said, bowing his head. Wraith did not reply. Snape held his eyes on her only a moment more before he looked to the Dark Lord. "I can see myself out, my Lord," he said. "I will report if there has been any disturbance in my absence."   
  
"Thank you, Severus," Voldemort replied. "We will speak again soon."   
  
"My Lord," Snape said, bowing to him. With one final glance at Wraith, he started down the staircase alone.   
  
"You are weak, my pet."   
  
Wraith sneered slightly at the name, but she held her tongue. "Antony, will you give a moment?"   
  
"Of course, my Lady," Harper said, tilting his head to her. "Excuse me, my Lord," he said to Voldemort before he hurried down the hall and around the corner out of sight.   
  
"The…wounds I suffered last night took a great deal of power to repair, my Lord," Wraith told him acidly. "I only need a little more rest—seeing as I didn't get much last night."   
  
"Should I apologize?" Voldemort asked dryly, taking a step closer to her.   
  
"I doubt it would be a sincere apology," Wraith replied tartly. She reached out a hand, brushing it lightly over the collar of his robes. "And frankly, I expect there will be a repeat performance tonight," she added with a dark sort of smile.   
  
Voldemort returned her smile, leaning his head down. He touched his mouth lightly to the side of her neck, breathing in her light scent. "You should go and rest while you can," he told her in almost a warning.   
  
"As my Lord commands," Wraith murmured derisively.   
  
But Voldemort remained where he was a moment longer. His hand drifted down her neck in a light caress. "And I suppose…since you were kind enough to share this with me last night, it is only fair that I return it to you when you are in need," he said thoughtfully.   
  
Wraith let out a soft breath as she felt the warmth of power drifting through her skin where he had touched her. She closed her eyes as she drank the power in thankfully.   
  
"My Lord is too kind," she said softly, opening her eyes to see him.   
  
Voldemort smiled slowly. "I have been called many things, sweet, but  _kind_  is not one of them," he told her.   
  
Wraith gave him a dark cheshire grin. "That depends entirely on who you're talking to," she said. She slipped her hand around the back of his neck and drew him down, pressing her lips to his. Voldemort pushed her back firmly against the wall, his hands gripping her waist. "Hardly restful, my Lord," Wraith murmured as his lips trailed down her neck.   
  
"My apologies," Voldemort murmured in return and Wraith laughed at the irony in his tone. He stepped back slipping his hand around hers and pulling her away from the wall. Wraith stood shakily on her own two feet, but she steadied herself as she smiled coyly up at him.   
  
"Shall I help you back to your tower?" Voldemort asked her.   
  
"Pride demands that I decline, my Lord," Wraith replied.   
  
"As you wish," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Go."   
  
Wraith curtsied as deeply as her shaking legs would allow and then started slowly away from him. As she rounded the corner, Harper was quite suddenly at her side, supporting her arm as she stumbled. Wraith smirked, more than a trace of bitterness in her expression. "Thank you, Antony," she whispered, certain that they were still within Voldemort's hearing. Harper smiled and nodded silently.   
  
"You had a fight with Snape."  
  
Wraith's weak steps faltered. "How did you know?"  
  
Harper shrugged, "You always smile when you see him, you kind of light up. And you didn't back there."  
  
"Ah," Wraith said softly, "Do you think that the Dark Lord noticed?"  
  
"I doubt it," Harper replied. "He doesn't seem to pay attention to things like that. Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"Not just yet," Wraith murmured.  
  
"As you wish, my Lady."   
  
With his help, Wraith managed to get up the steps of her tower and Harper left her at the door. Before she went inside her room though, she paused long enough to place her hand on Harper's cheek. "I'm grateful for you, Antony," she told him.   
  
"My purpose in life, my Lady fair," Harper replied with a wide grin.   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes, but she smiled at him nonetheless.   
  
Alone once more, Wraith gestured to the fireplace and doused the flames with a spark of power. With the same gesture, the curtains of the windows closed as well, leaving her in darkness. Satisfied then, Wraith crawled into her bed and let sleep take her.       
  
  
  
  
It was early evening before she woke again. She sat up slowly, feeling far more healed than she had that morning. For a long time, Wraith sat on the edge of her bed, her mind whirling. Her eyes seemed to be locked upon the black cloak on the floor, lying there like a forgotten shadow.   
  
With a soft and rather resigned sigh, she stood and crossed to pick it up. Folding it over in her arms, she held it close, closing her eyes as she thought about that moment Snape had flung it away from him.   
  
She felt a deep ache somewhere inside of her and remembering the words she had spat out in anger made her feel ashamed. She set the cloak aside along to slip on her coat before she picked it up again and left her tower.   
  
  
  
  
Standing before the castle, it took a very long time for Wraith to make herself step inside. For the first time, she felt like an intruder within its familiar stone walls. She crossed the entrance hall, pausing before the door that led to the little room where she and Snape had so often played chess together. He was there in that room, she knew with a breath of her power. No doubt seeking solitude, as that was one of the few rooms in the castle that held no painting or portrait.   
  
Wraith touched her hand to the surface of the door—but she did not enter. Instead, she continued to the grand staircase, silent as her own shadow. She made her way up to the seventh floor and the Headmaster's office. Entering it, she immediately crossed to the desk and laid Snape's cloak upon the surface there. She did not look at the portrait of Dumbledore that rested behind the desk, though she could feel his eyes upon her.   
  
"He is downstairs somewhere, child," Dumbledore told her gently.   
  
"I know," Wraith answered, finally lifting her eyes. "Did he tell you what we were fighting about?" she asked.   
  
"He has said nothing," Dumbledore told her, "I only guessed that you two had quarreled by his demeanor."   
  
Wraith chewed on her lower lip as she considered her words. She sat down in the chair in front of the desk. "You know about the attack, I hope?"   
  
"I do," Dumbledore said, nodding, "The wizards and wolves at the Malfoys'. Severus said that you had been badly wounded."   
  
"A werewolf ripped me open from neck to hip," Wraith clarified, her hand drifted across her chest to touch her shoulder. "He tore into my shoulder like a chew toy."   
  
"But you survived. That is what counts."   
  
"I suppose," Wraith murmured.   
  
"Did your fight with Severus have something to do with the attack?" Dumbledore asked.   
  
"In an inverse sort of way," Wraith said, "…After the attack, Voldemort and I returned to the Manor…and I slept with him."   
  
The portrait of Phineas Nigellus made an odd choking sound, and Wraith granted him a very sharp look. Dumbledore, however, merely nodded. "So, you have won that battle."   
  
"The battle, yes," Wraith said, relieved by his practicality, "but not yet the war. This is only one step along the way and the path I'm taking is very dangerous."   
  
"May I assume that Severus did not take the information well?" Dumbledore asked, "Is that what you fought about?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith replied squarely.   
  
"Did you tell him what happened between you and the Dark Lord?"   
  
"I did not truly have a chance to tell him myself," Wraith admitted, "When Voldemort and I joined the gathering downstairs in the Manor…he referred to me as his 'Lady'."   
  
Dumbledore's brows shot up, "Therefore handing you a great deal more power over your fellow Death Eaters."   
  
"Exactly," Wraith hissed, smirking just slightly, her expression very dark, "A rather unexpected benefit at that. I'd never expected him to openly acknowledge me as his lover, but he has."   
  
"So, Severus fought out with the rest," Dumbledore said, "He would not have taken that well."   
  
"You're not wrong," Wraith said, her dark smile fading to nothing, "He was waiting for me after I'd left Voldemort. We…exchanged some rather harsh words."   
  
"I'm sure that Severus was concerned for you," Dumbledore told her, "You said yourself that this path is dangerous for you."   
  
"If it was only concern then I would not have been so angry with him," Wraith snapped.   
  
Dumbledore blinked at her, as did Phineas. Wraith pulled her eyes away from the both of them, oddly embarrassed.   
  
"You're speaking of his jealousy," Dumbledore said slowly.   
  
Wraith nodded shortly, "I don't like it," she said simply, "More than that; I don't  _understand_  it. I know full well that he doesn't think of me the way that Voldemort and Edwin do."   
  
Dumbledore seemed to hesitate before he spoke again. "…I think…perhaps…that it has to do with the only other true friend that he had. In his youth, Severus had only that one friend that he trusted absolutely. She was also the woman that he loved. His love was an obsession and though he never confessed his love to her, he remained insanely jealous of all others who tried. And he lost her, through his own doing. You are the first person I have seen him care for since her death. I think that he fears losing you just as he lost her."   
  
Wraith was silent, but she felt her heart constrict within her chest. It did not excuse his actions, but it gave her an understanding and that was enough for her to forgive him for his part in their argument.   
  
"Who was she?" Wraith asked softly, "He has mentioned her too, but never spoke her name."   
  
"It is not my place to tell you, child," Dumbledore said gently.   
  
Wraith nodded, letting the question go. She stood from the chair, touching her hand briefly to the folded cloak upon the desk.   
  
"Would you rather that we not tell the Headmaster that you were here?" Phineas asked her.   
  
"Actually, I'd rather you did," Wraith confessed, "And if he will listen…tell him that I am sorry for what I said, and that I am not angry with him."   
  
"You'll be returning to the Manor then?" Dumbledore asked.   
  
"Soon," Wraith replied, "First I must make a stop at the Owlery."     
  
  
  
  
Wraith knew before she had even entered his tower that he was waiting there. She did not acknowledge him as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Nor did she even glance in his direction as she walked around the edge of her bed to one of the tall windows and threw it open.   
  
"Good evening, my Lord," she said dryly as she finally turned to smirk at him.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort replied, "Where were you?"   
  
"I went to Hogwarts," Wraith told him simply.   
  
"May I inquire as to your purpose?"   
  
Wraith held her arm out towards the window and Voldemort sensed the little sliver of power that she sent out into the night. A dark feathered owl suddenly flew into the window to land upon her outstretched arm. Wraith pulled her arm closer to her chest and ran her other hand gently over the owl's feathered head. "I wanted my owl," she said, "I'd left him at the Owlery in the castle, so I went to fetch him."   
  
"Ah," Voldemort said shortly, his irritation clearly not yet abated, "And I suppose you saw Severus while you were there?"   
  
"Briefly," Wraith said, "I did not wish to stay long. Though, I will admit that I did not expect you to be waiting for me when I returned. I'd have sped my step a little had I guessed." Wraith turned to the perch that still stood beside the open window and coaxed her owl onto it. Then she took off her cloak and let it fall upon her bed. "Did I worry you?" she asked mockingly as she sat on the edge of her bed and bent to unlace her boots.   
  
"I do not like you Apparating when you have confessed such weakness,  _pet_. I want no repeat of Tzadik's tower."   
  
Wraith lifted narrowed eyes to her Lord as she slipped off her boots and tossed them aside. "What happened last night is not akin to what occurred at Tzadik's. I do not require to be treated like glass."   
  
Thinking of the night the traitor Tzadik had been executed and all that followed in that night's wake brought a scowl to the Dark Lord's face. Wraith ignored it as she stood and continued to speak.   
  
"When that ridiculous tower fell and buried me, I had been overextending myself for months beforehand. It was not the injuries that I incurred that I needed to recover from, my Lord. It was everything before that."   
  
She crossed the room to where the Dark Lord sat in his chair before the fire. He watched her every movement with sharp eyes, no doubt seeking signs of the same weakness he had seen that morning.   
  
"I am well enough," Wraith told him rather firmly, reaching out one slim hand to touch his cheek. "There is no need for concern, or anger for that matter. I would think that you should know by now that you cannot cage me. I will do as I wish." She smiled slowly, her eyes dark. "Right now, I rather wish to kiss you," she murmured, tilting her head to one side, "Promise not to bite?"   
  
"I make no such promise," Voldemort replied, smiling slightly himself.   
  
"Fine with me," Wraith said, her own smile sharpening. She leaned down, wrapping one hand around the back of Voldemort's neck as she brought her lips to his.   
  
The kiss was soft and teasing, and neither of them pushed further. They both danced on that teasing edge until Wraith started to pull back. Voldemort's hand lashed out, grabbing her by the arm and keeping her still. "Where do you think you're going, milady?" he asked her mildly.   
  
"To my bed," Wraith told him impishly, "Are you joining me?" she asked him in turn.   
  
Voldemort loosened his hold upon her arm, letting her slip away. Wraith moved slowly towards her bed, turning her head to glance over her shoulder at him when he did not move to join her. She was surprised by the almost pensive look upon his face. "That dress strikes me as familiar," Voldemort said, "but I cannot place it."   
  
Wraith blinked at him, shocked that he had even noticed what she was wearing. "I have not worn this dress for quite some time," she admitted, turning to face him. "It's the dress that Narcissa gave me," she told him, "I was wearing this dress when you gave me my name."   
  
Voldemort stood and crossed the room to her. He slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Wraith tilted her head up so that their lips met once more. This time the Dark Lord was more forceful, pressing the line of her body to his. The hand at her waist slipped up to the laces of her dress and he began to slowly loosen them. Wraith felt the dress slip from her thin frame to the floor and she stepped out of it and away from Voldemort's touch in the same motion.   
  
Voldemort gazed at her, his eyes taking in every inch of her bare skin. He seemed to be in no hurry. Wraith had noticed that after the rush of their first encounter, the Dark Lord liked to take his time with her. It was not hard to enjoy the way he appreciated the sight of her.   
  
Wraith took a step towards him, but then she hesitated. "Your robes," she said softly, not taking her eyes from his.   
  
Voldemort smiled darkly and drew his robes over his head, tossing them carelessly to the floor. He started towards her, but Wraith held up a hand, pressing it to his chest and stopping him. Voldemort frowned and his eyes narrowed, but Wraith simply smiled up at him. She lowered her eyes to where her hand was touching his chest and slowly drew her fingertips down, letting her hand fall away. Moving very slowly, her steps serpentine,   
  
Wraith began to circle the Dark Lord, bringing her hand up again to brush lightly over his shoulder and across his back. It occurred to her that she knew every inch of Edwin's skin, but had not yet taken the time with Voldemort. Wraith was very close to him as she continued her circle. The Dark Lord turned his head to try and follow her movements, intrigued by them. Wraith brushed her lips over his shoulder as she came around to stand before him again. She laid both hands upon his chest, marveling at the fact that as pale as she was, her Lord's skin was even paler. His body struck her as strangely ageless as she let one hand slip around to his back and the other up to rest on his shoulder.  
  
Finally she brought her eyes back to his face.  _You are no more human than I am_ , she thought dispassionately,  _perhaps even less_. Wraith drew him down to her, letting her lips linger just above his. Keeping her gaze locked with his, Wraith stepped back to the edge of her bed.                  
  
  
  
  
Sometime later, as the night drifted deeper into silence, Wraith lay beside her Lord, still as the night around them. She was lying on her stomach, her arms curled under her head. She felt his hand drifting idly across the smooth skin of her back and smiled at the touch.   
  
Seeing the slight smile, Voldemort turned on his side to face her and drew just a little closer to where she lay. Wraith tilted her head so that it rested at the crook of his neck and slipped one hand over so that it rested upon his between them.   
  
Voldemort breathed in the scent of her hair and sighed, almost as close to sleep as she. "Have I ever told you that you smell of roses?" he murmured, almost unaware that he had spoken at all.   
  
"Hm," Wraith murmured in reply, her eyes fluttering open. "My Lord, you are falling asleep."   
  
"So I am," he said, forcing himself to open his eyes as well. He started to move away, but Wraith grasped his hand and made him pause.   
  
"You could stay," she suggested sleepily.   
  
"Not tonight," he told her, though he was tempted.   
  
Wraith smirked and released his hand. As he moved to the edge of the bed, she turned to lie on her side, sitting up slightly as she rested her weight on her arm.   
  
"…Voldemort," she called softly before he stood.   
  
The Dark Lord stopped at the sound of his name, looking back to her. Again, she saw the slight edge of shock in his eyes, but beneath it was pleasure. "What is it?" he asked.   
  
She smiled, her eyes glittering. "I just wanted to see if I could get away with saying it again," she admitted.   
  
Voldemort tilted his head to the side, smirking darkly at her. "I think I rather like the sound of my name on your lips," he told her. His eyes drifted down the line of her body in appreciation before they met hers again.   
  
"You could stay," she said again, her voice soft with promise.   
  
"Another time," he replied, standing and moving away to gather his robes. "How are your reserves, my Wraith?" he asked as he dressed.   
  
"Hm? They're fine," she answered, "A little more rest and I'll be at my full strength again. Why do you ask?"   
  
"I may have a task for you tomorrow," he told her. He walked back to the bed and leaned down to brush his lips lightly over hers. "Sleep," he said, "We will speak tomorrow."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes and nodded slightly, stretching herself out on the bed again. Voldemort watched her as she slipped fully into sleep before he walked to the door and left the tower.   
  
The hour was late, but when Voldemort reached his own tower, he went to the circular mirror that hung on the wall and tapped his wand to it. The glass filled with smoke that was soon cleared away to reveal Snape's face.   
  
"My Lord," Snape said, bowing his head, "How may I serve you?"   
  
"Severus, did you see my Wraith earlier this evening?" Voldemort asked him.   
  
"I did," Snape lied without the slightest hesitation, "She was not here long though. She came for that owl of hers."   
  
"Do you know why she would want it now?"   
  
"I don't know for certain," Snape said, "But from what she'd told me, she is still in contact with the vampire Vivaldi." He was not surprised to see the slight scowl that passed over the Dark Lord's face, but he made no comment to it.   
  
"I do not like how often my Wraith Apparates," Voldemort said, "It seems such a waste of power."   
  
"My Lord," Snape said, "I may have a solution to that."


	64. Parchment Promises

_"I wish you well and so I take my leave,  
I pray you know me when we meet again."_  
  
  
  
  
  
Wraith was woken from a rare sound sleep just after dawn. She blinked several times, still half asleep and wondering if the knocking she heard on her door was just a part of her dream. It took her a moment to come to the conclusion that there was someone actually at her door and she scowled rather irritably as she sat up in bed. "Who is it?" she asked, her tone betraying her annoyance.   
  
"It's Harper, milady," came the answer, "May I come in?"   
  
Wraith tilted her head to one side, curious at the excitement she could clearly hear in his voice. "Give me a moment," she told him, slipping out of bed and snatching up a silken robe.   
  
Once she had wrapped the robe around her, she went to the door and opened it to admit Harper, who was practically bouncing as he stepped inside. Wraith looked at him with narrowed but amused eyes. "You have far too much energy for this hour of the day, my vassal," she said mildly.   
  
"My most sincere apologies for that, my Lady," Harper replied with an outlandish bow.   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes at him. "What brings you here then, Antony?" she asked him, crossing her arms over her chest.   
  
"You need to get dressed," Harper told her with a wide grin, "and come downstairs with me."   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow, "May I ask why?"   
  
"No, my Lady, you may not," Harper said maddeningly. He turned on his heel and crossed to the wardrobe, throwing open one door and glancing around inside.   
  
"What are you doing?" Wraith asked, laughing.   
  
"Just a moment," Harper all but sang the words, "Now, I've seen you wear them before…Aha!" With a flourish, Harper pulled out the black trousers that Janesch had given Wraith to wear ages ago. "Wear these," Harper instructed, throwing them at her.   
  
Wraith caught them and smirked, "Harper, what on earth are you up to?"   
  
"Not me, my Lady," Harper said, "I'm the just the accomplice."   
  
"Alright. Fine," Wraith said, throwing up her hands, "Get out and I'll get dressed."   
  
Harper grinned and rushed to the door, pausing only to kiss Wraith's cheek as he passed. "Be quick," he told her as he closed the door behind him.   
  
Wraith looked after, a bemused expression on her face. With a sigh, she shrugged off her robe and began to dress. She opened the door again barely five minutes later, wearing the trousers that Harper had thrown at her. Paired with it was the black vest buttoned over a cream-colored blouse with flowing sleeves. "There," she said to Harper, who was waiting just outside the door, "I'm dressed. Now, are you going to tell me what this is about?"   
  
"Someone's grouchy this morning," Harper teased, "Didn't get much sleep last night, milady?"   
  
"You are as bad as Janesch ever was," Wraith told him, hitting him lightly on the side of the head.   
  
To that, Harper only continued to grin. He offered his arm to her, "Shall we?"   
  
Wraith stifled the urge to roll her eyes again and placed her hand lightly upon his offered arm. Together they descended the spiraling tower steps. Wraith allowed him to lead her through the halls of the Manor and was slightly surprised when he took her out of the building entirely. The grounds of the Manor were covered in a light morning fog as they walked around to the side of the building.   
  
It wasn't until they were almost to the woods that Wraith saw someone standing at the edge of the trees. Harper felt her stiffen, but did not allow her to pause.   
  
"…Severus?" she called, slipping away from Harper to cross the grass.   
  
"My Lady," Snape replied, waiting as she approached him.   
  
"What's going on?" Wraith asked him.   
  
"I have something for you," Snape told her. He took a step backwards and then turned to walk a little ways into the trees.   
  
Wraith waited, only barely noticing when Harper came up beside her. A moment later, Snape came back out of the woods, leading something large and black with him. Wraith gasped softly when she realized what she was looking at.   
  
"That's…that's a thestral, isn't it?" she asked in a whispered.   
  
"It is," Snape said, putting a hand on the creature's skeletal neck, "He's from the herd at Hogwarts; the only domesticated herd in all of Britain, actually."   
  
"And why have you brought him here?" Wraith asked, stepping closer to touch one of the leathery wings.   
  
"For you. He's yours."   
  
"M-mine?" Wraith said, blinking at Snape with wide eyes. It was then that she noticed the special saddle on the thestral's back that would not encumber its wings.   
  
"The Dark Lord made mention of the fact that he did not like how often you Apparate," Snape said, "I offered this as an alternative and he instructed me to bring it to you to see how you like it."   
  
"He's really mine?" Wraith asked, smiling, "Does he have a name?"   
  
"Not as yet," Snape replied.   
  
"Hm," Wraith murmured, running her hand down the thestral's neck, "I think that I'll call him…Hakuul."   
  
"An interesting name," Snape said, "May I ask its meaning?"   
  
"It's goblin for 'phantom'," Wraith told him, turning her smile to him.   
  
For the briefest moment, Snape smiled back before the expression quickly faded. He glanced over to where Harper stood, grinning like a fool. "I thank you for your assistance, Harper, but go away for a moment."   
  
Wraith laughed as Harper's grin widened and he bowed to them both. "As you command, Professor," he said brightly. "I'll wait up at the house." With that, he had turned and was heading away.   
  
As soon as Snape was sure that he was no longer within hearing, he looked back to Wraith. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Wraith waited a moment before she took pity on him.   
  
"…You've a skill for finding the words that will hurt the most," she said, very softly.   
  
"A skill you share," he replied.   
  
"I'm sorry," she told him.   
  
"As am I," he said.   
  
Wraith had the urge to throw her arms around him—but she felt the eyes on the back of her head and knew that they were being watched from the Dark Lord's tower. Instead, she placed her hand over his upon the thestral's neck.   
  
Snape gave her a small smile before he stepped back, pulling the thestral along by its reins. "Come," he said, "I'll give you a quick lesson."   
  
Wraith grinned and allowed Snape to give her a boost. With his help, she was able to swing her leg over the thestral's back. Sitting in the saddle, she felt ridiculously tall. Snape offered the reins to her and she took them gingerly.   
  
But as she closed her hands around them, she suddenly closed her eyes and leaned forward as if she'd been struck in the stomach.   
  
"Wraith?" Snape said quickly, reaching up to place his hand on her arm. "Wraith, what is it? What's wrong?"   
  
It took her a long moment to reply, but at last, she raised her head again. Her eyes were cold and burning at the same time as she gazed down at him. "… _I've done this before_ ," she whispered.   
  
Snape stared at her, disturbed by the sheer anger that made her voice shake.   
  
Wraith suddenly sat up straight, turning her eyes up towards the Dark Lord's tower with the cold burning eyes. Snape saw her hands tighten upon the reins a mere second before she snapped them. Snape had to backtrack quickly out of the way as the thestral took off at a gallop with Wraith sitting steadily upon its back. He watched in amazement as she took the thestral around the empty grounds of the Manor, riding as if she'd been doing so all of her life.  _"I've done this before"_  she had whispered to him.  _But when?_  Snape wondered, feeling a cold chill course down his spine.            
  
  
  
  
It was late morning, but Edwin hadn't yet brought himself to get out of bed. He'd woken ages ago, but spent the morning hours staring up at the ceiling. The bed he was in was unfamiliar, though comfortable.   
  
It had been a week since he and several other Order members had sought refuge in the once abandoned house in the country. McGonagall had placed a great many protective charms around the building and the area around. She had even performed the difficult Fidelius Charm and made herself the Secret-Keeper.   
  
There were around a dozen or so people hiding there, but Edwin kept himself apart from them. He had Alexis there, which was enough for him. He knew that McGonagall was watching him with careful eyes as she had been ever since he and Alexis had fled Hogsmeade and rejoined the Order's cause.   
  
The previous months had been difficult for Edwin to get through, with every whispered rumor of the Dark Lord's Lady Death that reached his ears.   
  
Lost in his thoughts, he was startled by the sound of someone knocking at his door. He practically leapt from his bed, his heart pounding. He pulled open the door to see Alexis, who seemed rather pale. "I think you need to come downstairs," she told him, a little breathless.   
  
"What's wrong?" he demanded, moving quickly to snatch up a shirt from the floor and pull it on.   
  
"I'm not sure that anything's wrong," Alex admitted, "But a letter just arrived—and it wasn't brought by any of  _our_  owls. McGonagall is worried that we've been compromised."   
  
Edwin followed Alexis down the creaking stairs to the little room that McGonagall had requisitioned for herself. Edwin knocked once upon the closed door and it opened beneath his hand. McGonagall stood in the doorway, frowning at him until she saw Alexis standing behind him.   
  
With a resigned sigh, McGonagall stepped back to allow them both to enter. "I haven't opened it yet," she told them, sitting down behind the well-worn desk in the center of the room. "Miss Jeffries, you jump to conclusions. There was no need to wake Rowle."   
  
"Alex said the letter wasn't brought by an Order owl," Edwin said.   
  
"True," McGonagall said, "That is why I haven't yet opened it. I had to test for curses."   
  
"Have you found any?" Alex asked.  
  
"No," McGonagall replied. She held up a plain unmarked envelope for them to see. "Sit down, the both of you."   
  
Edwin and Alexis did as they were bid, though they sat on the edge of their seats. McGonagall hesitated a moment more before she tore open the envelope and pulled out of the folded parchment within. She only glanced at the words before she lifted her eyes to Edwin.   
  
"…Rowle, I do believe this message is for you."  
  
She set the letter on the desk and pushed it towards him. Edwin leaned forward to read it. He was surprised to see that the letter consisted of only one short sentence.   
  
 _Thorfinn Rowle is dead._  
  
Edwin closed his eyes and put a hand over his mouth.   
  
Alexis read the letter and she smiled sharply. "Good," she whispered.   
  
"It was Thorfinn who killed your parents, wasn't it?" McGonagall asked gently.   
  
"Yes," Edwin said, nodding. He opened his eyes to meet McGonagall's. "…It's her handwriting," he told her.   
  
"You're certain?"   
  
"Yes," Edwin said, "We aren't compromised, McGonagall. She would have made sure that her owl would be able to find me."  
  
McGonagall nodded shortly, her eyes upon the parchment.   
  
Edwin reached forward and took hold of the letter, holding it up as if to see it better. The moment his hand touched the paper, there was a dim flash of gold light. All three of them saw further words appearing beneath that singular sentence as if someone were just writing them. McGonagall moved as if to take the letter, but Edwin pulled it back.   
  
"It's a personal message," he said softly.   
  
McGonagall frowned, concerned, but with great effort she let the matter drop. Sitting back, she sighed deeply. "The letter is yours, Rowle," she said, "I do hope you will take all caution."   
  
"Yes, ma'am," Edwin said, with a hint of his old humor as he smiled slightly at her. He stood, folding the parchment and shoving it into his pocket. "Thank you," he told her. Before she or Alexis could stop him, he had turned and walked out of the room.   
  
Alexis watched him go and then swiftly looked at McGonagall. "She does love him," she whispered, "Wraith, I mean. She would never bring him harm. We're still safe here."   
  
"I agree that the Wraith has feelings for Rowle, but we cannot place trust in that, Alexis," McGonagall said firmly.   
  
Alexis opened her mouth as if she was prepared to argue further, but she stopped herself. With a short nod, she stood and was gone as quickly as Edwin.   
  
McGonagall looked after them, her heart heavy with what she had seen in both of their eyes.  _She loves her too, if only because Rowle does_ , McGonagall realized.         
  
  
  
  
Voldemort descended the front steps of the Manor, his eyes upon a dark figure in the distance. The thestral extended its wings and reared back, and yet its rider remained steady. The Dark Lord waited patiently as it turned 'round and galloped back towards where he stood.   
  
Its pace slowed as it drew nearer and Wraith brought him around so that she could look down upon the Dark Lord. "Good morning, my Lord," she said evenly.   
  
"My Wraith," he replied, "You ride as if you were born to it. You are pleased with your gift?"   
  
"I am," she said, grinning swiftly. "I've named him Hakuul," she continued, "I think we'll get along quite well." She dismounted, keeping hold of the reins to make the thestral keep still. "Is Severus still here?" she asked.  
  
"He is within," Voldemort told her. "Am I to suppose that you will make use of your thestral rather than continuing to Apparate needlessly?"   
  
"You are correct," Wraith said dryly, "Hakuul will allow me to reserve my power for more important things. It was a good thought."   
  
"I'll admit that it was Severus who thought it," Voldemort said. "Come inside," he told her, holding out his hand, "The thestral will make himself comfortable within the woods."   
  
"If you are sure," Wraith said hesitantly. When Voldemort simply nodded, she released the reins. Hakuul twisted his head around as if to make sure he was free, his nose brushing against Wraith's shoulder, before he took off at a comfortable trot towards the trees. Wraith watched him go, her head tilted to the side and a bemused smile on her face.   
  
Voldemort touched his hand beneath her chin, turning her head towards him. "My Lady," he murmured, "Come inside."   
  
"Hm, if my Lord commands," Wraith murmured, turning towards him and stepping closer. She smirked, the expression sharp, as Voldemort brushed his hand across her cheek before he turned and started back up the steps.   
  
With his back turned to her, Wraith's smirk twisted further into a dark and knowing expression. She followed him back into the Manor and together they entered the drawing room where Harper and Snape were waiting.   
  
Harper smiled brightly at Wraith, but it faltered slightly when he saw the dark in her eyes. Snape too took note of the girl's expression, but he knew better than to react to it. Wraith met his eyes and her smile softened back to its normal continence. She curled up beside Harper on the short couch, giving Voldemort a challenging sort of glance as if daring him to argue it.   
  
"My gratitude, Severus," Wraith said, looking now to Snape, "The thestral is marvelous."   
  
"I am glad he will be of use to you, my Lady," Snape said, bowing his head slightly.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort said, drawing her attention, "I have a task for you."   
  
"And what task would that be, my Lord?" she asked him, "You know well that your wish is my command."   
  
"When it suits you," Voldemort countered, his tone betraying his amusement.   
  
"Would this be the task that you mentioned last night?" Wraith asked.  
  
"It is," Voldemort said, standing, "follow, my pet."   
  
Wraith did not move, her eyes narrowed despite the fact that she smiled. She waited.   
  
Voldemort paused, looking back to her. "My Lady," he corrected himself, holding out a hand.   
  
Wraith's slight smile became a grin as she stood and crossed to take his offered arm.   
  
"Frightening, isn't she?" Harper asked, grinning himself after the Dark Lord and Wraith had left the room.   
  
"Quite," Snape agreed. "I wonder though…"   
  
"What?" Harper asked.   
  
"The Dark Lord is too clever to be caught easily," Snape said, his voice low, "I wonder just how unaware he is that Wraith intends on caging him as he has caged her."    
  
  
  
  
Voldemort led Wraith down into the dungeons and she felt her sting of dread as they descended the stone steps. "You may find this task to your liking, my Lady," Voldemort told her, coming to a stop before Arthur Weasley's cell.   
  
"What makes you say that, my Lord?" Wraith asked dubiously.   
  
"When we were attacked by those wolves, you reached into their minds and found that they were not Rafe's," Voldemort reminded her, "I would ask that you reach into this man's mind—and find the locations of the safe-houses that he knows." He smiled knowingly at his Wraith when she moved closer to look into the cell. "If you can manage it, then it would no longer be necessary to torture the information out of him."   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed and her gaze was sharp when she turned it to the Dark Lord. But she was silent for a moment, considering. "It could take some time," she said slowly, "I've only ever read surface thoughts before. I've never really looked any deeper."   
  
"Time you have in abundance," Voldemort assured. "See what you can find, my dear. I will await your report."   
  
"My Lord," Wraith said, bowing her head. She turned, placing a hand upon the bars of the cell, looking in. She waited until the Dark Lord had disappeared back up the stone steps before she turned her eyes in the direction he had taken. She muttered a curse under her breath and looked to Arthur.   
  
The moment her eyes turned to him, he scrambled up from the floor and pressed himself against the back wall. "Don't come near me," he told her, his voice low.   
  
"And how are you going to stop me?" Wraith asked him tiredly. Meeting his eyes, she reached lightly into his mind.   
  
 _—You won't have my family—Please don't hurt them—Can't let you find them—_  
  
Wraith pulled herself free of his mind with a sigh, turning her head away. "You fear for your family," Wraith said, looking back to him.   
  
Arthur's legs seemed to give out on him, as he slid down the back wall to the floor. "Please," he said aloud.   
  
Wraith stepped through the bars of the cell like smoke and knelt on the floor in front of him. She reached out a hand towards his face, but he flinched back. "Be still," Wraith told him sharply. She took hold of his chin and forced him to look directly at her.   
  
"…How old are you?" Arthur asked her suddenly.   
  
Wraith blinked at the question. "Twenty," she replied.   
  
"Twenty," Arthur repeated, "I have a son your age."   
  
"I know," Wraith said evenly, "I've met him."   
  
"Please," Arthur said again, "Don't do this."   
  
"Would you prefer to be tortured?" Wraith asked him brusquely. When he gave no answer, Wraith realized that there was no true answer to give.  _At least with torture, he might have had a chance to conceal the information—but then again, maybe he wouldn't have_. Gently, Wraith cradled his face between her hands, "Be still," she told him again, softly.   
  
Looking into his eyes, she found herself falling almost easily into his mind once more. Her own mind was bombarded by scatter images as if they were being thrown at her.   
  
She saw flashes of his family, many of a red-haired woman that she had never met, but who must have been his wife. She saw the woman's warm smile, felt Arthur's smile in return and the love he felt for her.   
  
She saw his children, his sons and daughter, and she saw Harry and Hermione among them, laughing and smiling all together.   
  
She saw Bill, scarred face and all, dancing with blonde woman with a luminous sort of beauty in a dress of white. She realized as she focused upon that memory that it was a wedding. Arthur took his wife out to dance beside his son and the bride and she felt Arthur's hope that his eldest son would be as happy in his love as his parents were. And she felt his fear for the future, fueled by the memory of almost losing Bill to the werewolf Greyback just months before the wedding.   
  
Different memories skipped in front of her consciousness again, and Wraith's mind was flooded with images of many battles, she saw Arthur's comrades fall and felt his pain and helplessness. She was startled to see herself through his eyes, saw her own pale hand reach out to touch his daughter's arm. As she watched Ginny fall through Arthur's eyes, she felt his fear and pain, the shock of it sending a jolt through her as if the pain were truly hers. Arthur had seen Bill turn the rifle on her, had watched as she had been shot and the way she had fallen. It had disturbed Arthur how very young she looked, how helpless, and how very similar to his own daughter in that one moment.   
  
Following the complicated threads of his mind and the memories embedded within, Wraith was drawn to another scene, not too far in the past. The room was lit with warm light and though small, was crowded with people, all gathered around a bed. The blonde woman Wraith had seen in Arthur's memory of his son's wedding was laying in the bed, holding something fast in her arms, her husband sitting beside her.   
  
Wraith watched as the woman passed the bundle to Arthur's wife and Wraith realized that it was a newborn baby. As the child was passed to Arthur's waiting arms, she could feel such an all encompassing joy from deep within the man's heart.   
  
 _You have a grandchild._    
  
The girl's voice was soft in his mind and Arthur wondered if she had meant for him to hear it at all.   
  
 _Yes_ , he tried to reply, focusing all of his energy into the thought,  _my granddaughter. Her name is Victoire.  
  
You are afraid for her.   
  
Yes. _  
  
Wraith deliberately turned her focus away from that memory, searching out for something else. She now knew the location of one of Order's safe-houses: that little cottage by the sea, which housed Arthur's granddaughter and her mother.   
  
 _I will not give that to him_ , she promised.   
  
 _You won't? Why?_  
  
In answer, Wraith allowed Arthur a glimpse into her own mind.      
  
 _"You let them escape," Harper realized, smiling slightly.  
  
"I will _not _make war on_ children _," Wraith hissed through clenched teeth.  
  
"The Dark Lord does," Harper reminded her gently.   
  
"I am not the Dark Lord," Wraith told him, turning away._   
  
She felt Arthur's amazement and his confusion in equal parts and quickly closed her mind once more, returning to her own search within his.   
  
A long time passed before she finally pulled free of his mind, gasping for breath. She had found what she had been looking for.   
  
And Arthur knew it. He gazed at her helplessly as she stood and left his cell. "Wait!" he called, "Please, you can't—!"   
  
"I have to give him something," Wraith told him firmly, "He would not believe that I had failed. Be satisfied that your grandchild is safe. That is all I can give you and I risk a great deal with it."   
  
Arthur closed his eyes and nodded, his pleading stilled.   
  
"Wait, what are you talking about?" Bill demanded suddenly from the next cell. "What do you mean?"   
  
Wraith stepped over so that he could see her. "She's your daughter," Wraith realized, "Victoire."   
  
Bill paled dangerously beneath his scars. "Yes," he said thickly, "I hope to see her again someday."   
  
"I could hope that you do too," Wraith said.   
  
"What do you care,  _Executioner_?" Bill asked, his voice cracking despite the harsh tone.   
  
Wraith was silent for a long moment. Then she placed one hand upon the bars of the cell and looked directly at Bill.   
  
"…Sometimes…very rarely…I will recall a face. The face of a young woman…and I know that she…she was the closest thing to a mother that I have ever had," Wraith whispered, "…and I can't even remember what her voice sounded like." She smiled weakly and laughed humorlessly. "I wouldn't wish that on any child; not being able to remember someone who loved you."   
  
Wraith took a very deep breath, closing her eyes as she collected herself and stepped away from the cell.   
  
"I will hide your daughter's location—but I cannot actively protect her. Do you understand?"   
  
"I've got the gist of it, I think," Bill said slowly, "But I'm still very confused."   
  
"I seem to have that affect on you people," Wraith said wryly. She turned away, glancing at Arthur one last time before she hurried up the steps.   
  
The moment she left the dungeon, she felt someone grab her by the arm and spin her around.   
  
"Severus," she said breathlessly, resisting the urge to throw her arms around him.   
  
"Are you alright?" he demanded quickly, "You were down there for hours!"   
  
"Was I?" Wraith said, amazed. "I hadn't noticed how much time had passed."   
  
"Did…were you able to find anything?"   
  
"Oh, yes," Wraith replied darkly. She pulled free of his hold and practically ran towards the stairs, "We don't have much time. I have to report to the Dark Lord at once—and then I must move very quickly if I'm to salvage this."   
  
"Salvage what?" Snape asked, following her.   
  
"I have the location of one of the last safe-houses for the Order," Wraith said sharply, "—and Edwin is there."


	65. Infidelis

_"When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn't make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. "It's all right" we whisper, "I'm here, I love you." and we lie: "I'll never leave you." For just a moment or two the darkness doesn't seem so bad."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith moved quickly up the stairs with Snape at her side.   
  
"Wraith, wait," Snape told her, "Slow down and talk to me. What is in your head? You cannot mean to give him Rowle!"   
  
"No, I don't," Wraith said, finally stopping as she turned to him. "He will  _never_  have Edwin. Not while I draw breath. But there were only two locations in Arthur Weasley's mind; two places where the Order has refuge. There is the place where Edwin and many enemies of the Dark Lord hide—and the other hides a child."   
  
Snape closed his eyes, letting out a breath. "Wraith…"   
  
"I have to give him something, Severus," Wraith said, lifting her hands helplessly, "Better that I send him after those who can defend themselves against him." She turned sharply and continued down the hall.   
  
Snape caught up with her a moment later. "Wraith, tell me about this morning," he said quickly, "What did you mean when you told me you had done that before? You've ridden a thestral?"   
  
"No, but I've ridden a horse," Wraith replied, her voice filling with quiet venom.   
  
"A horse?" Snape repeated, "When?"   
  
"Hell if I know," Wraith snapped, turning a potent glare on him just as they reached the staircase to the Dark Lord's tower. "Wait for me here," she told him firmly. Snape nodded and she made her way up the twisting stair. She knocked upon the door only once before she stepped inside.   
  
Voldemort was seated behind his desk, his eyes pouring over an open book. He looked up when he heard her enter and watched as she closed the door behind her. With a slow smile, he closed the heavy tome before him and sat back in his chair. "You look rather tired, my pet," he said as way of greeting.   
  
"That I am, my Lord," Wraith replied bitingly, "and being so also tends to make me a bit cross—and your use of that 'endearment' does not help."   
  
Voldemort smile widened as he stood and walked around the desk to meet her. "My apologies," he said, reaching out a brush a strand of hair from her face. "Did you find something for me, dear one?"   
  
"I did," Wraith told him, smiling darkly. She deliberately stepped away from him, putting distance between them before she turned back to him. Crossing her arms across her chest, she considered him. "Arthur Weasley only knew the location of one safe-house. He is aware that there are others, but he does not know where they are. It's clever of them actually; clever of McGonagall really. They all have different places to go, and no one man can compromise all with one blow."   
  
"But you do have that one location?"   
  
"I do," Wraith said, "and I believed my Lord will be very pleased with what I found."   
  
"Go on," Voldemort prompted.   
  
"This refuge holds Minerva McGonagall," Wraith told him with a slow smile.   
  
" _Ah_ ," Voldemort breathed, "Very good, my Wraith. Very good indeed." He slowly stepped towards her, holding out his hand. Wraith slipped her hand into his and smiled when he lifted it to press his lips to her palm. "You have my gratitude, my Lady," Voldemort told her, "Do you wish to join the hunt?"   
  
"No," Wraith replied bluntly, "It would be a waste of my resources."   
  
"Very well," the Dark Lord, letting go of her hand, "We shall have to move quickly. I shall recruit the three Lestranges to lead the attack. I'm sure that Bellatrix will be only too happy to do so."   
  
"There's one other thing, my Lord," Wraith said, "The building is protected by the Fidelius Charm, and McGonagall is the Secret-Keeper. I know the location—however; with the charm still in effect I doubt anyone would be able to see it."   
  
"So, you're saying that you must lead the charge after all?" Voldemort asked.   
  
"No," Wraith said, "I believe that I can use Arthur Weasley's connection to the charm to break it completely."   
  
"Then why haven't you already done so?" Voldemort demanded.   
  
"Because I don't know whether or not McGonagall would sense it," Wraith said, "Better to wait until the moment you send your Death Eaters."  
  
"I see," Voldemort said, turning to pace in front of his desk.   
  
Wraith waited in silence for a minute or so, allowing her Lord time to think. "My Lord," she said at last, "We must also face the possibility that they have already abandoned the building."   
  
"And why do you say that?"   
  
"McGonagall gave the location to Arthur and she knows that he was captured. The wisest course would have been to abandon the location the moment that happened."   
  
"But they are not always wise, are they?" Voldemort asked with a dark smile.   
  
"No," Wraith agreed softly, "So few are."   
  
"Here is what we will do," Voldemort told her, "I will summon the Lestranges and a handful of others. Once they are gathered, you will attempt to break the charm. If you are not successful, you will lead the attack. If you are, then you may remain behind."   
  
"Fair enough," Wraith replied evenly.   
  
"Is there anything else?" the Dark Lord asked.   
  
"Nothing comes to mind," Wraith said lightly.   
  
"Then come," Voldemort said, offering his hand, "Let us gather our forces."   
  
Wraith touched her hand lightly to his and allowed him to lead her down the tower steps to where Snape still waited.   
  
Voldemort paused to give the man a scrutinizing gaze. "Severus," he said, turning to face him, "Good. We can make use of you tonight. How would like to assist us in capturing McGonagall once more?"   
  
"My Lord, I am at your disposal," Snape replied, giving the Dark Lord a low bow.   
  
Wraith stepped away from Voldemort, smiling slightly as she touched her hand to Snape's chin, lifting his face. "You have always been one to be counted upon, Severus," she said, "Come," she told him, making him stand straight once more, "There is work to be done—and enemies to be found."   
  
"My Lady," Snape said, inclining his head to her.   
  
Wraith stepped back to Voldemort, coiling her arm around his and granting him a sharp hunter's smile. Snape fell into step behind the two of them, mulling over the trace of fear Wraith had allowed him to see in her eyes. They descended down to the parlor, where   
  
Voldemort gestured for Snape to approach. Knowing what the Dark Lord required, Snape shook back the sleeve of his left arm, exposing the Dark Mark there. Wraith saw him wince just slightly at the Mark burned at the Dark Lord's touch upon it and she felt the Mark on her arm burn in reply to it.   
  
"We await those I have called," Voldemort said as Snape lowered his sleeve once more, "and then Wraith will break the Fidelius Charm that surrounds the safe-house where those cowards await us. My Lady has requested to stay behind, as it would be a waste of her power, especially if they have already abandoned the area. Severus, you and her Harper will go instead. I'm charging  _you_  with the specific task of bringing me McGonagall."   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Snape said simply.   
  
"And what if they should fail?" Wraith asked suddenly, her eyes fixed heatedly on the Dark Lord.   
  
"My Wraith, you should have more faith in your fellows," Voldemort said, an edge of warning in his tone.   
  
"You are sending  _my_  Harper," Wraith pressed, approaching him.   
  
"Your Harper is still  _my_  Death Eater," Voldemort reminded her.   
  
"Oh, he is of more use to me and you know it," Wraith argued.   
  
"Would you deny him the chance at glory, pet?" Voldemort asked her.   
  
Wraith held his gaze a moment longer. Then she sighed. "No," she said, "I just worry for the boy. He's no great warrior, my Lord."   
  
"We shall see. The boy may yet prove himself."   
  
"You didn't answer my question," Wraith reminded him. "What if they fail?"   
  
"Severus, do you intend to fail?" Voldemort asked, not taking his eyes from Wraith.   
  
"I do not intend to, my Lord," Snape replied slowly, his eyes darting between him and her.   
  
"What is your concern, pet?" the Dark Lord demanded.   
  
"That you send them in my place, since I have chosen not to go," Wraith said, "That you send those I am closest to as a sort of punishment for that."   
  
Voldemort blinked at her. Snape waited silently, feeling the tension between them.   
  
"Clever pet," Voldemort said, "I hadn't even realized my own intention. Very well," he continued, "Harper can remain behind. Severus, as I have more trust in your abilities, I do still intend to send you."   
  
"I would not have it otherwise, my Lord," Snape said, "despite our Lady's concerns."   
  
Wraith gave him a scowl before she looked back to the Dark Lord. "I am going to my tower," she said slowly, "I'll come back down when the Lestranges arrive."   
  
Voldemort nodded once as he settled into his chair by the fireplace. Wraith glanced at Snape when she passed him, but said nothing more. Snape looked after her, frowning just slightly.   
  
"She is right to be concerned for the Harper boy," he said to Voldemort. "The boy is best suited to serve, not to duel. Though he is no coward when put to the task. I believe that is what she fears."   
  
"Yes, I see," Voldemort said, "Let the boy serve her then. I have others to put to this task, after all."   
  
  
  
  
  
Edwin stood at the little window in his room, staring out at the falling snow. Behind him, Alexis paced the floor, her footsteps a constant sound along with the crackling of the fire.   
  
"What does she mean?" Alexis asked, breaking the silence suddenly. She crossed over to the bed, picking up the letter to reread it. "' _Please forgive me. I need you to believe that I'll find my way back to you_.' Edwin," she said, "What does she mean by that?"   
  
Edwin didn't answer at first; he simply continued to watch the snow fall. The heavy grey clouds turned the early afternoon almost as dark as night.   
  
"…It means that she's sleeping with him."   
  
Alexis paused, not quite comprehending what he had said. "She…" Alexis quickly closed her mouth, pressing her lips into a tight line. She threw the letter back onto the bed and then sat heavily beside it. "…And how do you feel about that?" she asked softly, "It feels like…like you were expecting it!"   
  
"That's because I was," Edwin replied evenly, turning to face his friend.   
  
"And?" Alexis insisted.   
  
"And," Edwin said, "I would rather examine my feelings about it. Alright?"   
  
The pity and shared pain was clear in Alexis's eyes as she gazed at him.   
  
"Edwin—" she began.   
  
"—I hate it," Edwin snapped, cutting her off, "Is that what you wanted to hear? I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about his hands on her. I  _hate_  that she had to go back to him at all. But she did, Aly," he said, his voice more gentle, "And I do believe that she'll find her way back to me."   
  
"…You said the same about Clara and me," Alexis reminded him, a touch of resentment in her words.   
  
"And I still believe that too," Edwin replied, smiling. He crossed to the bed and sat down beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders. "We're going to be okay," he told her, "You'll see."   
  
"You love her," Aly said softly, though she wasn't sure if she meant Wraith or Clara.   
  
Edwin sighed, resting his head on her shoulder. "Sometimes it feels like I only dreamt her," he admitted, "and when I feel that way…I wish that I could have slept forever."   
  
Alexis turned so that she could wrap her arms around him and she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Edwin buried his face at the crook of her shoulder, ridiculously grateful for her. He could remember clearly a time when it had been Alexis who had needed comforting, her heart filled to breaking.   
  
After a couple of minutes, he pulled back. He kissed her forehead and smiled at her. Alexis smiled back, but it faltered as she glanced at the letter again. "You don't think…that she  _killed_  him, do you?" Alexis asked hesitantly, "Thorfinn, I mean."   
  
"I…don't know," Edwin admitted, "I don't think so, but I don't know for sure. She doesn't like to kill, Aly, but…She knew what happened to my parents and who took their lives. So, I don't know."   
  
"Something to ask her when you see her again," Alexis said, smirking slightly.   
  
Edwin tweaked her nose, smiling. "That's the spirit, Aly-cat," he said. He stood, going back to the window.   
  
Alexis looked after her friend—until a flash of golden light caught her eye. She looked down at the letter beside her and she cried out. "Edwin, the letter!"   
  
Edwin rushed back, grabbing up the parchment just as more words appeared beneath the original message.   
  
 _He knows where you are. Take your people and run. Now_.   
  
Edwin cursed fervently. "Alexis, go and warn McGonagall. We have to get out of here!"   
  
Aly jumped up, running for the door. Edwin hesitated before hurrying to the desk set against the wall. He pressed the letter down and reached for the ink and quill there. He managed to knock over the bottle of ink as he grabbed the quill. Quickly, he scrawled his own message.   
  
 _I love you._    
  
But a moment later, that soft golden light flashed from the parchment and he could read:   
  
 _I love you too. Be safe._    
  
Edwin smiled and shoved the letter into his pocket before he left the room, following Alexis.    
  
  
  
  
  
Snape knocked upon the Wraith's tower door. He pushed the door open when he found it unlocked, stepping inside just in time to see Wraith throw a bit of parchment into the fireplace. She tilted her head to one side, watching it burn to ash in a mere moment. She then lifted her eyes to Snape who stood still in the doorway.   
  
"Severus."   
  
"Wraith, they're waiting," he told her, his eyes drifting between her and the fire.   
  
Wraith nodded, stepping away from the fireplace and crossing the room to meet him. Together they made their way down the twisting stairs and the halls beyond. Certain that no one was nearby, Snape reached out a hand to touch Wraith's shoulder. "Wraith, I have to know," he said, "—what did you do to Thorfinn Rowle?"   
  
"Nothing."   
  
"Wraith—"   
  
"I did nothing," Wraith told him, turning to look him, "He was still alive when I found him—and I did nothing."   
  
Snape breathed a sigh of what could have relief. They started down the hall once more.   
  
"Do you believe that McGonagall will feel the charm break?"   
  
"Oh, I'll make certain of it," Wraith replied evenly, "and even if that wasn't enough, I've already sent a warning to them."   
  
Snape blinked. "How?"   
  
"I sent a letter very late last night," Wraith confessed, "That's why I wanted Hesper back."   
  
"And for whom did you intend this letter?" Snape asked, though he suspected he already knew.   
  
"I thought that Edwin should know about his uncle," Wraith said, smirking. "I used that same letter to send a warning. Edwin sent a reply, so I know that it was received." At the top of the front staircase, she stopped, looking back at Snape. "What if it isn't enough?" she whispered.   
  
"It will be," Snape told her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Rowle will be fine."   
  
"I'm not worried about Edwin," she said, "It's Alexis that concerns me. Will you watch for her?"   
  
"I will," Snape replied, "but why is it that you're not worried for Rowle?"   
  
Wraith opened her mouth as if to speak, but then she shook her head. She hurried down the steps and made her way down to the dungeons, Snape close behind her. Her eyes narrowed when she saw a small crowd gathered there, including the Dark Lord and the three Lestranges.   
  
"My Lady," Voldemort greeted her.   
  
Wraith bowed her head to him and then gestured to Snape, indicating that he should follow her. She crossed to stand in front of Arthur Weasley's cell. Wraith then turned and met Rabastan's eyes. She lifted her hand and pointed back up the stone steps.   
  
"Out," she said firmly, "Everyone but the Dark Lord. You are not needed down here. Wait for Severus at the Manor's boundaries—you have to be ready to leave  _the moment the charm breaks._ Do you understand?"   
  
Rabastan nodded slowly and looked to his brother and sister-in-law. He jerked his head towards the stairs, and slowly he and the others filed out. But Bellatrix scowled at them all and looked sharply at the Wraith, unmoving.   
  
"Not a word, Bells," Wraith told her before the woman had even opened her mouth, " _Go_." Her tone brooked no argument and Bellatrix felt a cold shiver trickle down her spine.   
  
But even so, she could not help but look to the Dark Lord. "M-my Lord—"   
  
"You have your orders, Bella dear," he told her.   
  
Wraith, with her back to them all, smirked. She waited until Bellatrix's footsteps faded before she opened the cell door and stepped inside.   
  
Arthur was pressed against the back of the cell, his eyes wary behind his newly broken glasses. Wraith saw the fresh bruises on his face and the line of blood at the corner of his mouth.   
  
"Hello again, Arthur," she said softly, "and who did that to your face?"   
  
"Rodolphus," Arthur replied, not taking his eyes from her face, even when the Dark Lord approached the cell.   
  
"How petty of him," Wraith murmured, tilting her head to one side.   
  
"What do you want now?" Arthur asked shortly.   
  
Wraith did not reply. Surging forward suddenly, she pressed her hand to the man's face, pushing his head back. He inhaled sharply as he felt the cold rush of the girl's strange power invading his mind once more.   
  
This time when Wraith pulled up the memory of McGonagall giving him the location of the safe-house, she was able to bring the tenuous connection between him and the Fidelius Charm to the surface. Following it, Wraith left Arthur Weasley's mind and found herself within Minerva McGonagall's.         
  
  
  
  
  
Alexis almost fell down the narrow staircase to reach McGonagall's room. She pounded upon the door, yelling as she did so, "Professor! Professor McGonagall, we need to go!"   
  
McGonagall pulled open the door, her eyes wide as she took in Alexis's flushed face. "Miss Jeffries, what on earth—?"   
  
"Professor, they're coming," Alexis told her swiftly, "The Death Eaters—we have to go— _now_!"   
  
Even as the words left her mouth, Edwin came up behind her. "She's right," he said to McGonagall, "Wraith sent a warning. They know where we are. We need to get everyone out of here."   
  
But McGonagall hesitated, looking between the two of them. "Mr. Rowle, Miss Jeffries, you forget that we are protected," she said firmly, "Even if they somehow knew the location, the Fidelius Charm would hide us from their sight. They could stand right outside and not be able to find us." She gave Edwin a rather sharp look. "That warning could very well be a trap. If we were to gather everyone and leave the protection of the house, who's to say that we wouldn't be ambushed as soon as we are outside of the charm?"   
  
Edwin's face darkened and for a moment McGonagall did not even recognize him. She had never seen that fury in him before.   
  
"Rowle—" she began, but Edwin lifted a hand, stopping her.   
  
"Don't," he whispered, his voice shaking slightly. "You know what?" he said, "I am done trying to defend her to you. Believe what you want. Alexis, let's go."   
  
"Edwin," Alexis murmured.   
  
"We don't have time to argue!" Edwin told her, "They could be outside  _now_!"   
  
McGonagall reached out a hand to touch Alexis's shoulder, holding her back. "Rowle, we cannot run simply on the word of the Wraith," she said, "This is one of the _last_ safe-houses we have. Where would you suggest we go?"   
  
Edwin looked at her, having no answer.   
  
McGonagall sighed, touching a hand to her forehead as she tried to think quickly. "Let's send a scout to the edge of the protections," she suggested, "and we'll go from there."   
  
"…Okay," Edwin said, "but let's be quick about it."   
  
McGonagall nodded and took a single step forward—before she suddenly fell back against the wall with a gasp. She felt a wash of cold air surround her and she closed her eyes at the sting of it.   
  
 _I'm sorry._    
  
The voice was but a whisper in her mind, but McGonagall knew at once who the voice belonged to.   
  
 _Run_ , the voice whispered,  _run NOW!_  
  
McGonagall's eyes snapped open and she lifted her wand. A shrill alarm echoed through the house. " _Everyone out! To the forest_!" she shouted briskly.   
  
"Professor, what—?" Alexis started, but she stopped at the furious look in McGonagall's eyes.   
  
"She's broken the Fidelius Charm," McGonagall said sharply, "The Wraith. You were right about one thing, Rowle—We have to go now."   
  
  
  
  
  
Wraith came back to herself a moment later and she swayed where she stood. Turning quickly, she touched a hand to Snape's cheek.   
  
Snape winced as images flooded his mind, but he held his ground.   
  
"That's where they are," Wraith told him swiftly, "Move quickly—McGonagall felt the charm break."   
  
Snape nodded and was gone, running up the stone steps out of the dungeon.   
  
Arthur Weasley slowly slid to the floor, breathing deeply, his skin like ice. Wraith walked away from him, unable to look at him again.   
  
Voldemort stood waiting, his lips twisted into a satisfied smile as he offered a hand to her. "Well done, my Lady," he whispered.   
  
"We will see," Wraith retorted.


	66. Ice

_"Fear is contagious. You can catch it. Sometimes all it takes is for someone to say that they're scared for the fear to become real."_  
  
  
  
  
The Death Eaters Apparated under the cover of the newly fallen darkness. As they each gathered their bearings, Bellatrix stepped forward, her dark eyes scanning the area around.   
  
Fifty yards ahead of them sat a crumbling building, its front porch sagging, nearly all the windows broken. Bellatrix sneered indelicately at the sight of it. She opened her mouth to speak, to declare that the Order had obviously long abandoned the place—when Snape strode forward and put his hand over her mouth. He shook his head slightly, his eyes also on the decrepit house. He turned his eyes back to Bella's and mouthed the word "illusion". Bellatrix's eyes widened in understanding and she scowled deeply.   
  
Snape released her and took a few cautions steps forward. He could hear nothing but the soft wind that rustled the leaves of the trees around them. As he neared the house, his eyes locked onto the front door, which was hanging open. He stopped in his tracks and his eyes quickly scanned the woods around, searching out any sign of movement. He felt his fellow Death Eaters slowly coming up behind him and he turned to face them.   
  
"Well, Snape?" Dolohov asked in a low voice.   
  
"The Fidelius Charm may have been broken, but the other protective charms remain," Snape murmured in reply, "There is an anti-Apparition charm around us. The front door of the house, as you can see from here, is open. But there are also tracks in the dust there as well. Search the woods—they cannot have gotten far."   
  
Immediately, the Death Eaters began to fan out, moving almost silently through the trees in their search. Snape remained where he was a moment before he continued up to the house. Carefully, he trekked over the dilapidated porch to the door.   
  
Standing just inside the threshold, he held up his wand and whispered, " _Homenum revelio_." The spell to reveal human presence swept through the house and Snape knew at once that no one remained within. Satisfied, he started back out to search the woods with the others.  
  
But as he stepped onto the porch once more, he felt something hit him from behind. A figure in a soft grey cloak jumped him, shoving him down before she ran for the cover of the trees. Snape shook himself off as he stood once more, his wand targeted on his would-be attacker. The figure glanced back at him and he saw her smirk.   
  
"Alexis Jeffries," Snape muttered.  _She was in the house—how did the spell miss her? That cloak she's wearing…is it another of Wraith's design_? Curious now, he shot off a stunning spell before the girl disappeared into the shadows. He saw the spell hit her shoulder and yet it had no effect on her.  _Well, that answers my question._    
  
Moving quickly, he shot a flare of red sparks into the air, signaling that he had found one of the Order members. Abandoning all effort of being silent, he tore into the forest after the girl and from all around him, he heard the other Death Eaters making their way towards them as well.   
  
There was a flash of pale grey just ahead of him, but even as he watched, it disappeared. Snape continued on despite it and suddenly felt a spell hit him from the side. He lost his footing as the stinging hex hit him and he tumbled down a short hill, cursing fervently when he landed. He rose, wincing at the sting in his side, and was grateful for the pile of leaves he had fallen in, despite the fact that they were covered in ice that now drenched his cloak. He paused, looking up to see the bright flashes of light that signaled spells.   
  
There was a high feminine scream and suddenly the forest exploded with sounds of battle. Snape cursed again as he made his way back up the hill.   
  
He saw the small group of the Order and knew at once that they had remained behind to give the rest a chance to escape. He was unsurprised to see McGonagall and Kingsley there, currently locked in a battle with the three Lestranges.   
  
The Order was outnumbered, but they were holding their own. Snape scanned the group and his eyes locked onto the one he had most hoped  _not_  to see. Edwin Rowle was dueling with the Carrows. It was rather hard to tell, dimwitted as the pair were, but they seemed quite befuddled by the fact that none of their spells were having any effect on the boy whatsoever.   
  
Snape started forward, but was distracted as a stunning spell missed him by a millimeter. He stopped, turning to face whoever had thrown the spell. He recognized the wizard as Podmore as he brought his wand up. He sent a stunning spell in retaliation, which Podmore deflected quickly.   
  
"Severus," Podmore said, casually greeting the man he had once thought to be an ally.   
  
"Sturgis," Snape replied, nodding his head just slightly.   
  
Podmore nodded as well and then the two men began to duel in earnest.   
  
Nearby, Edwin finally managed to hit Alecto with a swift stunning spell and in a flash of red light, she fell to the ground. Her brother Amycus shouted and cursed at the boy as he aimed a Killing Curse at him. The bright green light barely missed Edwin and he quickly backtracked to stay out of the wizard's range.   
  
The Death Eaters had been too sure of themselves and Edwin was pleased to see that he and the rest of the Order were no longer so badly outnumbered. He saw Alexis bring down Dolohov before she ran for the edge of the protective boundaries. Edwin took off after her; another of Amycus's Killing Curses blazing after him. McGonagall and Kingsley were close behind as well, having dispatched the three Lestranges between the two of them.   
  
The border was so close Edwin could practically feel it—  
  
—Snape spared a precious moment of time to glance over when he saw Edwin and Alexis running out of the corner of his eye. In that moment, Podmore's next spell found its mark.   
  
" _Expelliarmus!_ "   
  
Snape's wand flew through the air, landing several feet away from him. Podmore immediately turned and took off after the others for the border.   
  
Snape dove for his wand, but by the time he reached it and brought it back up, the Order members had reached the edge of the protective charms and were Disapparating as he watched.   
  
The Death Eaters still standing chased after them, hurling curses and jinxes as they went, but nothing got close. Snape let out a sigh—but even as he felt a touch of relief, it was quickly turned to horror as one of the flashes of green light struck Edwin Rowle in the dead center of his back.   
  
Edwin let out a strangled cry as he was pitched forward and crumpled to the ground.   
  
" _EDWIN!_ " Alexis shrieked his name as she doubled back to reach him. She screamed as she sent a curse towards Amycus Carrow that hit him in the chest. The wizard's eyes rolled up into his head as he fell unconscious to the ground. Alexis grabbed Edwin's arm and Disapparated with him in tow.   
  
Snape stood, unable to move as his mind whirled. He touched a hand to his own cloak, recalling what Wraith had told him about its properties.   
  
 _"—While you wear this cloak, you are protected from offensive spells. It will even stop two of the Unforgivable Curses—Save for the worst."_  
  
The curse that had hit Edwin had been the bright deadly green of  _Avada Kedavra_.   
  
 _What am I going to tell Wraith?_  
  
  
  
  
Up in her tower, Wraith paced across the floor, her eyes continually locked upon the window. Every now and then, she would cross to the window itself and gaze down at the front of the Manor before she would resume her pacing.   
  
The Dark Lord watched her pace from his seat by the fire, an almost amused expression upon his snake-like face. As she crossed once more to the window, he actually laughed under his breath. "Pet, your pacing is not going to bring them back any faster."   
  
Wraith glared at him over her shoulder, though she had to admit that he was correct. "Don't call me 'pet'," she told him as she sat down on the chaise beneath one of the other windows.   
  
Voldemort smirked. "You seem so agitated, my Lady. Have you such little faith in Severus's abilities?"   
  
"I am more concerned with McGonagall's," Wraith replied dryly, "The witch has held her own against you, after all. That speaks well for her skills."   
  
Voldemort scowled slightly at her words, but did not argue them. "Skilled as she may be, she is no Dumbledore," he said instead, "Need I remind you who brought about his death?"   
  
"McGonagall felt the charm break," she reminded him, "They'll have been ready for ambush."   
  
"Relax, my pet, I doubt we will have to wait much longer."   
  
Wraith sneered at the name and turned to look out of the window.   
  
"Wraith, that is beginning to get on my nerves," Voldemort told her.   
  
She sighed and turned, laying herself out on the chaise. She raised an eyebrow at her Lord and tilted her head to the side. "If it bothers you so," she said lightly, "then why don't you come and distract me?"   
  
Voldemort smiled slowly and rose from his chair to cross to the chaise. He sat on the edge and leaned over her, resting a hand on either side of her. "As you wish, my Lady," he murmured.   
  
Wraith grinned, the expression dark and almost feral. She brought her hands up, swiftly latching onto Voldemort as she pressed her lips to his. Voldemort pressed her against him, his hands digging into her back. Wraith's head fell back as his mouth drifted down to her neck. She felt one hand tugging at the buttons of the vest she wore and she laid back to help him take it off of her. She pulled the vest from her shoulders and shrugged it off to let it fall to the floor before she pulled Voldemort back to her. His teeth grazed over the sensitive skin of her neck once more as his hands sought purchase beneath her shirt.   
  
But even as she responded to his touch, the cold logical part of her mind considered him with something skin to scorn. Her mind flashed to Edwin's face, and then to Snape and Alexis as well.  _If any of them are harmed, I'm going to kill you_ , she thought dispassionately.   
  
Wraith traced his nails lightly down the back of Voldemort's neck, smirking as the touch made him shiver.   
  
Voldemort's breath was soft at her ear as she took her nails down his shoulders, pressing him tighter against her. "My little bird," he whispered breathlessly as his teeth grazed her ear. He felt her stiffen beneath him and suddenly she was not touching him. Voldemort froze as well, suddenly aware of what he had said.   
  
Wraith let out a breath and swiftly pushed him away. She stood at once, striding quickly away from him, keeping her back to him the whole time.   
  
The Dark Lord let her go without trying to stop her, cursing himself for the slip of the tongue.   
  
Wraith was trembling, struggling to keep herself locked down. She had no idea what was wrong with her—or why she felt her blood running cold with a very inexplicable murderous rage. It had taken everything she had for her not to wrap her hands around the Dark Lord's throat when he had whispered those words. As she fought to calm herself, she found herself remembering quite clearly someone else whispering those very same words— _"Little bird, little bird, why do you cry?"_  
  
Very slowly, Wraith turned back to Voldemort. He had not moved from the chaise, his eyes locked upon her. For the longest moment, Wraith simply stared at him as if trying to discern something. Voldemort waited.   
  
Wraith opened her mouth to speak, but before the words could leave her, she suddenly looked to the door. "They're back," she said instead.   
  
"Wraith—"   
  
"Don't call me 'little bird' again," she told him, cutting him off, "I don't know why—but I don't like it."   
  
Voldemort stood, not taking his eyes from her. "As you wish," he said slowly. He crossed to the door and gestured for her to follow. "Come, let us see if our hunters were successful."   
  
Wraith descended the stairs a step behind him, her eyes narrowed with thought.   
  
They reached the drawing room and Voldemort paused to offer his arm to her before they entered. Wraith looked around the room, her eyes cold as she took in the injuries the Death Eaters bore.   
  
"Severus," she said when her eyes found him.   
  
"We failed," he said simply.   
  
" _You_  failed," Amycus snapped at him, "Least I made one dead."   
  
"You don't know that for certain," Snape said tiredly, looking annoyed.   
  
"So, they've escaped once more," Voldemort said, his high voice cold enough to send a collective chill throughout the room.   
  
"They have, my Lord," Snape said, unflinching, "But at the very least, they are down another hiding place."   
  
"There is that," Voldemort admitted. He looked around the room once more before he turned on his heel and was suddenly gone.   
  
Wraith glanced after him and had to fight a smirk. She gestured to Snape and then slipped out of the room as well. She was halfway to the stairs before Snape caught up to her.   
  
"Wraith, I have to tell you something," he said quickly, his voice low.   
  
"What is it?" Wraith asked.   
  
"Amycus  _did_  hit someone with the Killing Curse as they were Disapparating," Snape told her, "Wraith…it was Rowle."   
  
To his utter shock, Wraith smiled at him.   
  
"Severus, relax," she said simply, "Edwin is perfectly fine."   
  
  
  
  
Alexis Apparated to the empty field where the others waited. She collapsed onto the ground beside Edwin's fallen form and began to sob.   
  
McGonagall rushed towards them, her heart stilled when she saw that Edwin was not getting up. She brought a trembling hand to her mouth and closed her eyes.   
  
"Ow."  
  
Her eyes snapped open and Alexis's sobs were suddenly cut short.   
  
Slowly, Edwin brought himself up into a sitting position and he rubbed his back, wincing. "Bloody hell,  _ow_ ," he repeated. He glanced around at the shocked faces of both Alexis and McGonagall.   
  
"H-how?" Alex whispered, reaching out to take Edwin's face in her hands. It was then that she saw the soft, almost imperceptible glow that covered his skin. But even as she watched, the glow faded to nothing. "Edwin, you were hit with the Killing Curse," she told him, "How are you still alive?"   
  
Edwin frowned at her, not knowing the answer. But then his eyes widened and he reached to pull the locket he wore from under his shirt. The locket felt warm in his hand and he understood. "That sneaky little sorceress," he muttered.   
  
He held the locket up for Alexis to see and it popped open on its own. Edwin looked down at it and saw that along with the lock of raven-black hair, there was a small folded note that he knew for certain had not been there earlier. Grinning now, even as Alexis had only begun to understand, Edwin took the little note and unfolded it to read:   
  
  
 _Love, you've been getting yourself into trouble; shame on you.  
  
Now you know the whole truth of this lover's token I gifted you. The locket is forged with a few drops of my own blood and will protect you from what the cloak will not. It essentially absorbs the Curse for you. But don't push it. I don't know how much damage it can really take, so don't act like you're immortal, alright?   
  
With my love, Wraith _  
  
  
Edwin began to laugh and he passed the note to Alexis for her to read. Her eyes brightened as she read it. "Oh, Edwin," she said, smiling, "Thank god."   
  
"Rowle?"   
  
Edwin and Alexis looked up to see McGonagall. Edwin climbed to his feet and shrugged, that silly grin still on his face. "I'm fine," he told her, "…She gave me protection, Professor. I'm alright."   
  
McGonagall opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to find the words with which to speak.   
  
"Professor, we should get out of here," Alexis said after a moment of silence.   
  
McGonagall quickly collected herself, nodding. "You are correct," she said, "But the question is—where do we go from here?"   
  
"We should split up for now," Kingsley stated, coming up from behind McGonagall, "It will be harder for them to track us that way."   
  
"As you say, Kingsley," McGonagall said.   
  
"Alex and I have somewhere we can go," Edwin said.   
  
"We do?" Alexis said quizzically.   
  
Edwin looked at her.   
  
Shock, apprehension, and resignation all passed over the girl's face when she realized just where he was talking about. "We do," she repeated softly.        
  
  
  
  
 _La Magia_  in the deep evening air was filled with light and sound as Edwin led Alexis by the hand up to the door. As usual, the large figure of Kale was standing 'guard' at the entrance. The man recognized Edwin at once and he smiled and nodded to him. "Evening, Rowle," he said, "Miss Clara will be glad to see you. Who's your friend?"   
  
"This is Alex," Edwin replied, "She's a friend of Clare's too."   
  
"Nice to meet ya," Kale said, bowing his head to her. Alexis smiled timidly in return. "Go on in," Kale told them.   
  
Edwin grinned and pulled Alexis along behind him. Once inside, Alexis came to an abrupt halt. "Edwin, I don't think I can do this."   
  
"Relax," Edwin told her, "Everything will be fine."   
  
"Rowle," said a smooth voice from the crowd in front of them. A tall statuesque woman with dark skin parted the crowd, smiling as she approached them.   
  
Aly's eyes widened as she took the woman in. Her long hair was dark brown and hung in tight curls around her feline-like face, her eyes black and shining. She held herself proudly, standing with one hand on her hip.   
  
"What are you doing lingering in my doorway, boy?" the woman demanded, "Get your ass in here."   
  
Alexis was caught off guard by the woman's brusque manner and she couldn't help but stand slightly behind Edwin, putting him between the two of them.   
  
"Well, it's good to see you too, Ms. Roz," Edwin said, laughter in his tone. He glanced over his shoulder at Alexis and was rather amused at her obvious apprehension. "Alexis, this is Ms. Rosaline Fallon. She owns  _La Magia_."   
  
"Alexis, is it?" Ms. Roz said, turning her full attention to the girl now, "I've heard a great deal about you, darling." Her voice was deep and smooth like chocolate, matching her appearance.   
  
"Have you?" Alexis said.   
  
Ms. Roz smiled rather gently and held out her hand to the girl. "It's good to meet you at last," she said, "I was beginning to think I'd never see you in person."   
  
Alexis stepped out from behind Edwin and took the woman's hand. "Is Clara here?" she couldn't help but ask.   
  
"That she is," Ms. Roz replied, "Come on upstairs, you two," she said, tugging on Aly's hand. "Now, what brings the pair of you here tonight?" she asked as she led them behind the back of the bar and up a flight of narrow stairs. "You seem a little worse for wear."   
  
"We were ambushed," Edwin told her bluntly, "The Order's lost another safe-house."   
  
Ms. Roz paused, looking back at him. "You lot need a place?" she asked.   
  
"Yeah," Edwin admitted, "Why, have you got one?" he asked, jokingly.   
  
"As a matter of fact," Ms. Roz said, "I do."   
  
Edwin blinked at her. "…Ms. Roz, you've  _never_  involved yourself in this war," he said softly.   
  
"That I haven't," Ms. Roz said, starting back up the stairs, "I've preferred to keep my head down as a whole, but that doesn't mean I don't want to see the Order succeed, little boy. I've several properties in London that can be put to good use." She stopped in front of the second door from the stairs and knocked once. "We'll discuss it after the pub closes," she told them, opening the door and ushering them inside. "Clare, you've visitors," she called.   
  
The room held a rumpled bed and a messy dressing table set with a large mirror and lights. Clara was seated at the table, fixing her stage make-up. She lifted her head at Ms. Roz's words and her eyes met Alexis's in the reflection. She froze, her brush falling from her hand.   
  
"…Aly?" she whispered.   
  
"Hi," Alexis said weakly.   
  
Clara turned, standing quickly. She hesitated, unsure of what to do or say. Alexis solved her dilemma by crossing the room to her. She held up her arms slightly and waited.   
  
Clara needed no more invitation. She wrapped her arms tightly around Alexis and actually spun her around once. Aly clung to Clara, tears in her eyes even as she laughed when Clara spun her 'round.   
  
"Oh god, Aly," Clara said, pulling back so that she could see Alexis's face, "Are you okay? What are you doing here?"   
  
"I'm okay," Aly told her, "We're both okay. There was an attack, but everyone made it out."   
  
"Edwin?" Clara said, looking to him.   
  
"It's alright, Clara-dove," Edwin told her with half a laugh. "I'm going downstairs with Ms. Roz," he said, "You two…catch up," he added with a wink. He and Ms. Roz slipped out of the room, closing the door behind them.   
  
Alexis looked back to Clara. Slowly, she lifted her hand to frame Clara's face between them. "…I've missed you," she whispered, the tears escaping her eyes.   
  
Clara smiled brightly through her own tears. Sniffling, she gently took Aly's glasses off of her and set them on the table behind her.   
  
"God, I love you," she muttered before kissing Aly swiftly.   
  
  
  
  
"Let me get this straight," Snape said, "You forged that locket  _with your blood_?"   
  
"Exactly," Wraith said, nodding. The two of them were seated on the couch in her tower. "It was…not easy, but I have no doubt that it came in handy tonight, from what you saw."   
  
"Wraith, how are certain that it even works?" Snape asked.   
  
Wraith touched a hand to her heart, "I'd know if he were dead, Severus," she said simply, "I can still feel him. And I felt the locket take the Killing Curse in his stead. He's alive and well."   
  
"So, that's why you weren't concerned for him," Snape realized.   
  
"Just so," Wraith said, smiling slightly.   
  
Snape considered her carefully. "Wraith, what has happened? Something's wrong with you, I can see it."   
  
Wraith's smiled melted away and she stood suddenly, crossing over to the window.   
  
"Do you remember when I told you of my last nightmare?" she asked, her voice strangely cold.   
  
"Yes," Snape replied, watching her.   
  
"That…man…from my nightmare, do remember what I told you he called me?"   
  
Snape searched his memory and then murmured, "It was…'little bird', wasn't it?"   
  
" _'We will use this power of yours together, little bird'_ ," Wraith recited slowly, "Those are the words he spoke right before I 'died'. I've always suspected that Voldemort knew more about these nightmares than he's let on—and now I have proof."   
  
She turned back to Snape and met his eyes squarely.   
  
"He called me 'little bird'."   
  
Snape could feel the cold emanating from her skin from across the room and he shivered.   
  
Wraith looked to the window once more. "It was no coincidence. He knew, Severus, he knew the moment he said it that he had made a mistake. I could see it in his eyes."   
  
"Wraith…"   
  
"I want to know what  _he_  knows," she whispered venomously, " _and I will…find…out._ "


	67. Secrets of the Darkest Arts

_"The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity."_  
  
  
  
  
Narcissa stood at the window in Rabian's nursery, her eyes watching the snow falling just beyond the grounds. Her gardens were still a disaster, more war-zone than garden truthfully and it was rather painful to see.   
  
Yet despite the damage done, she could see her beloved son walking along the ruined paths, hand in hand with his young lady. Narcissa was oddly fond of Astoria. She seemed to suit Draco so very well. It was almost like seeing a younger version of herself walking with Lucius as she had done so many years ago.   
  
Narcissa was jolted sharply from her reverie by a piercing almost hawk-like cry from outside. Blinking, she turned her gaze to the sky.  _That…that was a thestral, wasn't it?_  A shadow flew into her sight and she barely had time to make out that the thestral bore a rider before it disappeared to land on the road beyond the grounds.   
  
Outside in the ruined gardens, Draco and Astoria had also heard and seen the thestral. Clinging to Astoria's hand, Draco hurried back to the front of the manor.   
  
"Draco, what was that?" Astoria asked, her voice quavering slightly.   
  
"Thestral," Draco replied distractedly as they made their way quickly down the front drive. But then Draco paused a moment, coming to realize that it was only recently that Astoria had come face to face with death. She'd never seen a thestral before, she wouldn't have been able to. "Don't worry," he told her, "Thestrals are friendly enough. I'm more concerned about its rider…"   
  
"Someone was  _riding_  that thing?" Astoria exclaimed.   
  
"Yeah," Draco said, "and I'm pretty sure they—" He stopped very suddenly when they came within view of the front gate.   
  
Just outside the gate, sitting sidesaddle upon the thestral's back, Wraith swiftly dismounted, patting the creature's neck as she stepped away. She had a black satchel over her shoulder, which seemed to be empty. Her eyes immediately Draco's and he rushed forward to open the gate for her. Astoria held back, wide eyes on the thestral still.   
  
"Morning, Draco," Wraith greeted.   
  
"M-my Lady, what—what are you doing here? Did something happen?"   
  
"Calm down, Draco," Wraith said, both amused and a little impatient. "Nothing's happened. I've just come to speak to your parents. I trust that they are here?"   
  
"Yeah—I mean—yes, my Lady, they're here."   
  
"Good," Wraith said, glancing over to where Astoria stood. "I won't keep you any longer then. I know my way to the house." She placed a hand on Draco's shoulder and nudged him towards Astoria, an amused smile playing at her lips.   
  
She had almost reached the manor when she heard the two running to catch up with her. She turned back to see them and her movement seemed to make them hesitate. To Wraith's surprise, it was Astoria in the lead with Draco trailing behind.   
  
The young woman cautiously approached Wraith, her hands clasped demurely before her. "Lady Wraith?" she said quietly.   
  
"Yes?" Wraith prompted.   
  
"I—I just wanted to thank you," Astoria said, "for the other night. You—you saved my life."   
  
"…You're welcome," Wraith replied, surprised further still by the girl.   
  
Draco came up behind Astoria and took her hand in his as he stood beside her. "Thank you…for my mother's life too," he said tentatively.   
  
Wraith tilted her head slightly to the side, curious and touched at the same time. "Loyalty begets loyalty, Master Malfoy," she said slowly, "Think nothing of it."   
  
Draco bowed his head to her, but not before Wraith caught the hint of a smile. Smiling herself, she nodded to the both of them and then went up the steps to the front doors.   
  
The moment she opened them, she saw Narcissa making her way down the grand staircase within. "My Lady," Narcissa called from the stair, "This is an unexpected pleasure."   
  
"Well, unexpected in any case," Wraith replied with a smirk as she started up the stairs to meet her, "Hello, Narcissa."   
  
"Hello," Narcissa replied and the woman smiled. "May I inquire as to what brings you here, my Lady?"   
  
"You may," Wraith said, "I've actually come to ask a favor. There's a book that I believe is in your library. I wanted to borrow it."   
  
"Oh, of course, my Lady," Narcissa said, "Whatever you wish."   
  
"I appreciate it," Wraith told her, "More than I can say, actually."   
  
The two reached the first landing and Wraith paused, glancing down the hall.   
  
"How is Rabe?" she asked.   
  
"Very well," Narcissa said, "He…well, he did not sleep all that well. It's been difficult to get him to nap, but he's already getting better."   
  
"He's a strong little boy," Wraith murmured, "I'm sure he will be fine." She glanced at Narcissa, "Where is Lucius?" she asked.   
  
"In his study," Narcissa replied, "He just wanted a little time to himself."   
  
"He's entitled to it," Wraith said, "The Dark Lord has set him much to task lately."   
  
Narcissa looked down at Wraith, a contemplative sort of look on her eyes. "My Lady," she said slowly, "Would you care to share a cup of tea with me before you go?"   
  
Wraith blinked. The Malfoys seemed to be full of surprises that day. "I would," she replied a moment later.   
  
"I'll inform the house-elf," Narcissa said, turning to go back down the stairs, "Why don't you fetch the book you wanted? We can sit in the drawing room."   
  
"Alright," Wraith agreed, nodding. She waited a moment, looking after Narcissa. Then she turned and continued alone to the library.   
  
Wraith made a slow trek through the shelves of the library, recalling the many hours she had spent there in times past. Truthfully, she didn't even know for certain that the book she was looking for would even be there. She was beginning to wonder if she had imagined it entirely.   
  
But no, she thought back to the day that Blaise Zabini had approached her in that very room. She had pulled a book off the shelf at random, simply seeking an excuse to leave quickly. She'd taken the book with her back to her rooms, but had never done more than glance through it. She had been too distracted by Zabini's advances. The book had been returned here to the library and it had all but faded from her mind.   
  
But now—now she had need of it.   
  
Wraith knew the moment that her fingers brushed over the spine of the book and she swiftly pulled it from the shelf. It was still coated with dust, save for the little she had disturbed the first time she had pulled it down.   
  
The book was a very heavy tome and obviously quite old, the pages yellowed and the cover marred by the many years. Opening it once more, Wraith blew softly upon the pages and a cloud of dust flew up from them. Gently, being careful of the old and delicate pages, she flipped through, looking for a specific section. Little more than halfway through the book, she found it. Wraith turned and leaned against the shelves to read the page.   
  
 _So here it is_ , she thought, her mind absolutely racing,  _your grand secret; or one of them at the very least. I wonder what else you have to hide from me, my Lord and love._    
  
Wraith slammed the book shut suddenly and shoved it into the satchel at her side. With a small jot of power, she changed the book's appearance. It would not do for someone, namely Voldemort, to guess at what she was truly researching.   
  
Wraith took a few precious minutes to collect herself. She did not want Narcissa or her family to suspect that anything was wrong. It would be best for them not to become any further involved in this.   
  
When she was more certain of herself, Wraith went back downstairs to the drawing room where Narcissa waited. To Wraith's delight, when she walked in she saw little Rabian playing with his toys on the run near where Narcissa was.   
  
The woman was seated at a small table, set close to one of the large windows that overlooked the garden. She looked up when Wraith entered and stood, bowing her head. "My Lady," she greeted, "Did you find the book you were looking for?"   
  
"I did," Wraith replied, crossing the room. She shrugged the satchel off and hung it on the back of the chair opposite Narcissa's.   
  
"May I ask—?" Narcissa began, her eyes on the satchel.   
  
"Best not to," Wraith told her.   
  
"I see," Narcissa said, nodding. "Here," she said, gesturing to the tea.   
  
She poured only a touch of milk, but no sugar into the cup before she poured the tea. Wraith blinked; surprised and a little touched that Narcissa could remember how she took her tea.   
  
They sat together and Wraith watched Narcissa with sheer curiosity. The woman was so utterly collected. Wraith rather envied her grace. After a moment's silence, Narcissa set down her tea and looked over to the window. Wraith waited.   
  
"You saved my life," Narcissa said, very softly, "Not only mine, but the lives of my family. I owe you a great deal for that, my Lady."   
  
"There is no debt between us," Wraith told her, "I've your loyalty, it demands loyalty in return. Otherwise, you would have no loyalty to give at all."   
  
"Our Lord has different demands of loyalty," Narcissa said, rather blunt, "You, my Lady, are singular in your measures."   
  
Wraith was momentarily stunned into silence. "…It is true that our Lord holds a firm and cruel hand upon those loyal to him. But for every cruelty, there must be a kindness—else the cruelty would serve no purpose." She turned her eyes to the window as well. "I am content to be our Lord's kindness."   
  
"You've a gift at playing his foil, my Lady," Narcissa told her, "Every bit as fearsome as he; you've also the kindness to balance where he does not."  
  
"But I am not always kind, Narcissa," Wraith said, almost a warning.   
  
Her mind was flashing back to the garden that they were looking out upon, after the battle had been spent. She had seen quite clearly in Thorfinn Rowle's eyes that he had understood  _perfectly_  that she was deliberately allowing him to die there. The look in those dying eyes, the fear and resignation within them, was not something that Wraith was likely to forget. And she  _reveled_  in it.   
  
No, she was not always kind.   
  
"You are kind when it best suits your needs," Narcissa said, matter-of-factly. "May I speak truthfully, my Lady?"   
  
"Have you not been doing just that?" Wraith queried, smiling slightly.   
  
"I merely wonder at our Lord's likely displeasure if these words were to reach his ears."   
  
"Ah," Wraith breathed, "I understand. Speak; the words will remain between us."   
  
Narcissa took a deep breath and turned her eyes directly to Wraith's. "The Dark Lord rules with charisma and fear alike—you, my Lady, rule by sheer nobility."   
  
There was silence for a good long while as Wraith processed this.   
  
"Hm," she murmured thoughtfully, the little syllable breaking the silence. Finding that she could no longer sit still, she stood, moving closer to the window. "You surprise me, Narcissa," she said gently, looking over to her.   
  
"No more than you have surprised me," Narcissa told her, standing beside her, "It has been nearly three full years since the Dark Lord brought you to our door. There has been so much change since you came—most of all, in you yourself, my Lady."   
  
"That is true," Wraith said slowly.  _Truer than you know, actually._    
  
"I remember that first night he brought you," Narcissa continued, "You were so…fragile," she said, cautiously lifting a hand, "Delicate even. I could not even touch you, you were so very afraid of everything."   
  
Wraith turned, meeting her eyes and giving silent permission. Narcissa laid her hand gently on Wraith's hair, brushing it lightly before placing her hand on Wraith's cheek.   
  
"Now, you stand at the height of power, as if you were born to it."   
  
Wraith was taken aback to hear the fondness in Narcissa's voice. It seemed as though the woman was  _proud_  of her! She was touched, softened by the truth she was hearing. She touched the hand still upon her cheek and smiled. "You gave me music when I was still fragile" she reminded Narcissa, "It was that first kindness that prompted all others, you know."   
  
Her expression sobered and Narcissa dropped her hand, sensing a change.    
  
"Pledge to me your loyalty," Wraith said, her voice soft but far from gentle. "Pledge it to me separately, not as an extension of our Lord's will, but simply to me."   
  
"You have it," Narcissa told her firmly, "You already did."   
  
"Then you shall have my protection—even from  _him_." Looking out the window, she could see Draco still walking with Astoria. "And so will your family."   
  
"That is all I could ever truly want," Narcissa said. She too saw her son and the young woman beside him. She sighed. "She makes Draco happy," she murmured, almost to herself.   
  
"He loves her," Wraith said, just as softly, "That is by far something to be cherished, to be protected." A soft sigh escaped her and for just a moment, Narcissa was able to see the desperate longing in the girl's strange eyes. "It is precious," Wraith whispered.   
  
"My Lady…" Narcissa stopped, afraid to ask the question that nearly burned her tongue.   
  
Wraith turned away from the window suddenly. "I would see your son keep it," she said simply.   
  
"Thank you, my Lady," Narcissa said gently.   
  
Wraith smiled as she sat at the table again.   
  
After a moment, Narcissa joined her. "So," the woman said, her tone far lighter than before, "a thestral?"   
  
"A gift from Severus," Wraith said with half a laugh. "It saves me the cost of power to Apparate, you see. It was a request of our Lord."   
  
"I see," Narcissa said, "I must say, I was surprised to see anything close to friendship between you two. As I recall, before your time at Hogwarts, you were rather at each other's throats."   
  
"There were a number of misunderstandings between us that led to that…animosity," Wraith admitted, "But my time at Hogwarts allowed us to clear the air. We've found a great deal of common ground since then."   
  
"And…does Severus have your loyalty as well?"   
  
Wraith's gaze sharpened at that and she wondered at how much the woman had guessed, what her loyalty truly meant. "He has my friendship, at the very least," Wraith answered, judging it was better to give a safe reply than the whole truth.   
  
"Severus is a good friend to be had, though most would never guess," Narcissa said, "He's been a friend of my husband's since they were in school together."   
  
 _And just how much influence did your Lucius have when it came to Severus choosing to join the Death Eaters?_  Wraith wondered silence, though she kept any sign of the dark thought from her face.   
  
The two women were interrupted by young Rabian when he pushed himself up onto his feet and toddled over to where Wraith sat. The boy tugged on her skirts, making her look down at him. "Play?" the boy queried.   
  
Wraith grinned, touching a hand to the child's dark hair. "Well, if your Aunt Narcissa doesn't mind," she said.   
  
"Why don't we take our tea to the music room?" Narcissa suggested, smiling as well.                       
  
  
  
  
It was there that Lucius found the three of them, sometime later. He paused in the doorway and blinked in surprised at what he saw. His wife was standing to the side of the piano, her nephew seated on the Wraith's lap as she played. The little boy was trying to 'help' her and the two women laughed at every off note he added to the music.   
  
It was actually the Wraith who saw him in the doorway first. "Hello, Lucius," she said, bringing the music to an end, which Rabe quickly protested. Putting a gentle hand playfully over the boy's loud mouth, she grinned down at him.   
  
"My Lady," Lucius replied, bowing slightly. "It is a pleasure to see you. I trust that everything is well?"   
  
"Quite so," Wraith said, nodding gently. "I had actually come with the intentions of borrowing a book from your library. Narcissa was kind enough to invite me to stay for tea and Rabe was rather insistent that I play for him."   
  
"Young Rabian does seem quite fond of you," Lucius said, glancing to his wife as if looking for reassurance. When Narcissa gave him a small, but bright smile, he visibly calmed. "I do hope my Lady knows that she is welcome here anytime."   
  
"Thank you, Lucius," Wraith said, her own eyes glittering with mirth, "That is very kind of you."   
  
Rabian was looking up at her expectedly, but Wraith kissed the top of his head and lifted him up into her arms as she stood. Offering the child to Narcissa, she looked back to Lucius. "I really should be on my way, though," she admitted. "Thank you for the tea, Narcissa," she said, smiling at her, "We should do it again, I think."   
  
"We should," Narcissa agreed, taking her nephew into her arms.   
  
"Thank you again," Wraith said, "Good day, Lucius. It was good to see you."   
  
"My Lady," Lucius said, bowing once more as Wraith passed him. There was a moment's quiet as Wraith's footsteps died away. Then Lucius looked back to his wife. "Narcissa?" he said softly, crossing to her.   
  
"We're safe, Lucius," Narcissa told him, "More so now than ever."   
  
Wraith was on her way down the front drive when once again she heard quick footsteps behind her. Turning, she smiled slightly to see Draco hurrying towards her.   
  
"My Lady," he said, pausing to catch his breath, "Before you go—Astoria found this in the garden." He held up the necklace in his hand to her. "This is yours, isn't it?"   
  
Wraith blinked at it. It was the golden medallion, one of the Dark Lord's gifts. Wraith recalled suddenly that she had been wearing it on the night they were attacked. The chain was broken, it must have snapped when the werewolf had clawed her open. There was blood staining it. Her blood. Wraith took the medallion from Draco's hand, brushing her thumb over the Celtic designs and the pale blue stones. "Thank you, Draco," she said, bringing her eyes back up to him, "I had forgotten about it."   
  
Draco bowed haltingly to her, taking a step back. Wraith nodded at him and he turned, heading back to where Astoria was waiting for him.   
  
Wraith looked back down at the medallion before she tucked it into the pocket of her coat. Hakuul was waiting for her at the gate, pawing at the ground impatiently. Wraith smiled to see him as she passed through the gate and caught the reins in her hand.   
  
"Time to go, Hakuul," she murmured, lifting herself up into the saddle once more. With one last glance at the manor, Wraith touched a hand to the satchel and the book within, and then snapped the thestral's reins, making him take off into the air.    
  
  
  
  
Wraith had only just reached the top of the entrance hall's staircase when she felt the Dark Lord's presence closing in. Smiling slightly, she quickened her pace so that she met him in the next hallway. "Good afternoon, my Lord," she said.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort replied, his inhuman eyes alight with curiosity, "Where have you been?"   
  
"Oh, I went to the Malfoys'," Wraith told him, touching a hand to the satchel at her side, "I wanted to borrow a book from their library."   
  
"Ah," Voldemort said, his eyes on the satchel, "Another history, pet?"   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed and she replied slowly, "No…a book of magical theory, actually." She opened the satchel and pulled out the book, offering it to the Dark Lord. "Precisely that, really."   
  
Voldemort took the book, glancing at a cover he vaguely remembered, " _Magical Theory_  by Adalbert Waffling," he read the author's name, tilting his head to one side, "Hm."   
  
"I thought to do a little research, to see what I could apply to my own magicks."   
  
Voldemort passed the book back to her and she put it back into the satchel. "I am impressed, my Lady," he told her, "Your mind is sharp as ever."   
  
"Naturally," Wraith replied with a sharp sweet smile. She started past him, heading in the direction of her tower.   
  
"I have to wonder," Voldemort said, falling into step beside her, "why it would take you so long to simply retrieve a book."   
  
"Narcissa invited me to stay for tea," Wraith told him, "We spent some time entertaining young Rabian with the piano."   
  
Voldemort looked sideways at his Wraith. "You're very fond of children," he said, as if he disbelieved it.   
  
"Seems to be," Wraith murmured in reply, amused by his puzzlement.   
  
"Hmph. I was never so fond of children myself," he told her as they walked.   
  
"Not even when you were a child yourself?" Wraith queried impetuously.   
  
"Hardly," Voldemort said, with a slight sneer, "I was not a…usual child."   
  
"I never would have guessed," Wraith said wryly.   
  
"I always knew, even from a very small age, that I was different. Even before my letter from Hogwarts came to me, I knew that I was destined for greater things."   
  
Wraith looked at him from the corner of her eyes, curious. Voldemort saw her look and he frowned.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Nothing," Wraith said, "It's just…interesting. You never really talk about your past."   
  
"There is little to discuss," Voldemort said, shutting the door firmly on the subject.   
  
Wraith smirked at him. She started up the steps of her tower, glancing back when Voldemort hesitated a moment. When he began to follow her up, her smirk became a satisfied sort of smile.   
  
In the tower room, she threw the satchel and book to land on the couch and she slipped out of her coat. Voldemort crossed to his chair before the fire and settled into it. Wraith sat on the edge of her bed and unlaced her boots.   
  
Voldemort watched her with careful eyes. This was the first time they had been alone since the night before—since those betraying words slipped from his mouth. "Are you well, my Wraith?" he asked when she stood again.   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow at him. "Is there any reason that I shouldn't be?" she asked, her voice dry.   
  
Voldemort did not miss the soft challenge in her voice and he did not rise to meet it. Instead, he sat back in his chair, his eyes sweeping over her delicate form. Wraith saw the look in his eyes change and she smile slowly. She walked slowly over to the chair and tilted her head to one side as she stood before him. Voldemort's mouth twisted into a smile to match her own and he gestured slightly to her. Wraith hiked her skirts up and crawled into the chair, straddling his lap. She twined her fingers around the back of his neck and leaned forward to brush her lips against his cheek.   
  
"Damn," she muttered.   
  
"What?" Voldemort asked, frowning.   
  
Wraith grinned in reply, "I do believe that I missed you last night," she told him, "It's the first time we haven't spent the evening together."   
  
Voldemort's smile returned. "You do seem to be becoming a habit," he said, his voice low. His hands drifted up her torso, his touch gently, but assertive at the same time.   
  
Wraith's eyes fluttered closed and she bit on her lip. "Did you have any plans for the rest of the afternoon?" she asked him.   
  
"Not that I'm aware of," he replied.   
  
"Well," Wraith said, her own hands slowly drifting down his shoulders, "now you do," she told him right before she pressed her lips to his in clear demand.   
  
  
  
  
Early that evening, when she was alone in her tower once more, Wraith laid across her bed, the book from the Malfoys' open in her lap. The faded cover now bore its true title once more.   
  
 _Secrets Of The Darkest Arts._    
  
Her eyes darted over the pages, sharp and focused. In her hand she held the locket and she was twisting it idly in her fingers as she read.


	68. Pieces

_"Men rise from one ambition to another: first, they seek to secure themselves against attack, and then they attack others."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape jolted at the sharp knock on the office door and he tensed, going for his wand.   
  
"It's Wraith," Dumbledore told him.   
  
"Ah," Snape said, standing swiftly and crossing to open the door. It opened before he had reached it, however, and Wraith entered, closing the door firmly behind her. "Wraith?" Snape said, "Are you alright?"   
  
There was something in the air about her—something…off. She carried a cumbersome book in her hands. Without a word to him, or even a glance in his direction, Wraith strode past Snape to the desk and dropped the book upon the surface. It landed with a heavy  _thump_.   
  
Snape, sensing that Wraith was waiting for something, crossed to read the book's cover, but when he looked at it, he could only frown in puzzlement.   
  
" _Secrets Of The Darkest Arts_?" he read, not recognizing the title.   
  
Up in his portrait, Dumbledore suddenly inhaled sharply, drawing Snape's attention. The portrait looked almost…frightened.   
  
Snape looked back at the girl. "Wraith, what is this?" he demanded.  
  
"Albus has already figured it out," Wraith said slowly, her voice tainted with a mocking pleasure, "You know the book, don't you, Dumbledore?"  
  
Dumbledore did not reply.   
  
Snape looked between them, disturbed and frankly annoyed that he alone was out of the loop. "Would you care to explain?" he asked acidly.   
  
In reply, Wraith reached into the pocket of her coat and drew out Slytherin's locket.   
  
Snape felt the color drain from his face.   
  
Wraith's eyes were sharp and they gleamed with a dark light. She spoke slowly and very clearly.   
  
"I know what this is."   
  
She held the locket a little higher and it twisted in the air.   
  
Slowly, as if he were unsure of his footing, Snape went around his desk and sat down heavily in the chair there. "You've always been a clever girl," he said carefully, his black eyes sharp upon her. "Wraith—"   
  
"No," Wraith snapped, slamming the hand clutching the locket onto the desk. She leaned forward over the desk, her eyes boring into Snape's. "No more secrets, Severus. No more evasions. I know that this locket is the Dark Lord's Horcrux."   
  
The knowledge seemed to hanging the air between them with that single potent word.   
  
"…One of them."   
  
The words were spoken so softly that Wraith almost didn't hear him speak. Then the meaning of the words came through. She took several stumbling steps back away from the desk, leaving the locket on its surface.   
  
" _One_  of them," Wraith repeated, "one, Severus? You're telling me that Voldemort has  _multiple_  Horcruxes?"   
  
Snape was looking at both the book and locket with sheer distaste. "He originally had  _six_ ," he told her.   
  
"He spilt his soul into  _seven_  pieces," Wraith murmured, staring into empty air. "He alone would be arrogant enough to risk it… Wait," she said, focusing on Snape again, "You said that he 'originally had six'. What do you mean by that?"   
  
Snape sighed deeply, glancing up at Dumbledore before he spoke. "More than seven years ago Potter destroyed one. The boy had no idea what he had truly done, what he had destroyed. It had been a diary, kept by the Dark Lord during his time at Hogwarts as a boy. The bit of soul within the diary possessed another student and Potter destroyed it for that alone."   
  
"So, that leaves five," Wraith prompted when Snape fell silence.   
  
"Four, actually," Dumbledore told her, rather reluctantly, "I found another, a year before my death. It was the remains of the diary that made me suspect that your Lord had created Horcruxes and I began to hunt for them. I found one, a ring that had belonged to Riddle's grandfather."   
  
"And you destroyed it as well?" Wraith asked.   
  
"Yes, but not before triggering the curse upon it," Dumbledore said, "It was that very curse that killed me."   
  
Wraith was silent now, wide eyes on Dumbledore's portrait. The moment passed and she let out a slow, steadying breath, lowering her eyes. "The other three," she said to Snape, "Where are they? —What are they?"   
  
Snape seemed to hesitate again. "One is a small golden cup that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. We do not know where he's hidden it. We believe that he has one other artifact that belonged to a Hogwarts founder as well, but we haven't discovered where it is, or even  _what_  it is."   
  
"And the last?"   
  
Snape lifted his eyes to hers and spoke a single word. "Nagini."   
  
"Ah," Wraith said. "… _'They are both a part of me_ '," she whispered; " _Now_  I understand what he meant. She carries a part of his soul and I…I am bound to the part that remains." She crossed back to the desk and sat down in the chair in front of it. She let out a small humorless laugh. "You know, I always thought that our pride was the only thing that Voldemort and I truly had in common. But that's not true… We're neither of us quite  _human_  either."   
  
"Wraith," Snape said gently, "While we are speaking truthfully, I feel I must ask something of you again."   
  
"Ask," she told him.  
  
"Child, what  _are_  you?"   
  
Now it was Wraith's turn to hesitate. It took a few minutes of thought before she answered. "I…I don't know…exactly."   
  
"But you do know that the Dark Lord…created you…somehow," Snape said. When Wraith looked at him sharply, he held her gaze. "I overheard you once call him your 'creator'. Can you explain it?"   
  
"A little," Wraith admitted, "Yes, Voldemort did 'create' me. There were things that Gavin let slip in Azkaban…and from what I gathered, I wasn't conceived or born quite…naturally. I was…constructed to be what I am. I was  _made_  to serve as a power source for him. What I don't know is  _how_  he did it, or if there has ever been anything like me before."   
  
There was a terrible  _yearning_  in her voice and both Snape and Dumbledore heard it clearly. It was those questions that drove her so desperately to seek the truth. She closed her eyes and sat back in her chair, lips pursed as if to hold her tongue.   
  
"Wraith," Snape spoke gently, reaching across the desk towards her.   
  
Her eyes snapped open once more and she looked grim. "The Horcruxes," she said, "…Tell me what Harry Potter has to do with them."   
  
Snape turned his eyes away and Wraith followed his gaze to the glass case that held the replica of the Sword of Gryffindor. "You asked me why Potter and his friends wanted that sword. Potter knows of the Horcruxes. He is hunting them. To make a  _very_  long story short, the sword has the ability to destroy the Horcruxes."   
  
"How much does he know?"   
  
"At least as much as we do," Snape said, "Dumbledore instructed him before his death. It's possible that Potter has learned more since, but I've not the faith that Dumbledore has in his mental abilities."   
  
"So, Potter is hunting the Horcruxes. That's very interesting to know," Wraith said slowly, "…But that's not what I was referring to, Severus."   
  
Snape froze. His eyes still on the sword, his expression did not change, but Wraith saw him tense the moment the words left her mouth.   
  
"Severus," she said softly, " _I already know_. You know that I can sense the Dark Lord's presence. A couple of years ago, when he and I would find ourselves at odds with each other, I would wear the locket to comfort myself. I know now that it is because I can feel the Dark Lord _through_  it. The night of the new moon, when Potter and the Order attempted to rescue Lupin, I was wearing the locket. Potter saw it and he tried to take it from me. I felt the locket pulse—and something inside Potter  _answered it_!"   
  
"Wraith," Snape said, cutting short whatever else she had to say, "The only people who know of this  _are in this room right now!_  It  _must_  stay that way."   
  
"You think that I don't know that?" Wraith demanded, her voice tight with some soft fury. "Potter doesn't know," she realized, "He doesn't know what it is that's inside of him."   
  
"No, he does not know," Snape said, "He  _can't_  know. Not yet," he added, "Eventually, he will have to learn the truth and face  _exactly_  what it means."   
  
Wraith sat back in her chair, confused by the emotion—the  _anger_ —in Snape's voice. "Voldemort cannot die…unless Potter dies first," she whispered.   
  
"Wraith, the locket—"   
  
"Stays with me for the time being, thank you," she snapped, guessing correctly at what he had been about to ask of her.   
  
Something in Snape's face darkened. "That locket is one of the Dark Lord's anchors to life. It  _has_  to be destroyed."   
  
"And the moment that it is Voldemort will know that I am no longer his," Wraith said sharply, "Neither you nor Potter can have it just yet, Severus. I cannot afford it."   
  
"Wraith, you—"   
  
"He would  _kill_  me," Wraith said flatly, "And he can, Severus, anytime that he chooses to. —You who saved my life, would you see me throw it away now to benefit your mission?"   
  
The question was softly spoken, but sharp nonetheless. It stole the arguments from Snape's mouth and he fell silent. "No," he murmured, "I would not."   
  
"I need time," Wraith told him, now almost pleading, "The Dark Lord grows closer to me every day. I will find a way to break the link between us. That or I'll convince him to break it for me. But _I need time_."   
  
Snape nodded, turning his eyes away.   
  
Wraith watched him, waiting. She felt close to tears when she realized that he had nothing he could say to her. She looked up to Dumbledore's portrait. "You may have been willing to die for this," she said to him, "But I am not."   
  
With that, she stood, snatching up the locket as she left.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith had reached the edge of the lake where Hakuul was waiting for her when she felt the Dark Mark burn her arm. She cursed and then realized that the Dark Lord had not called upon her alone, but all of his most loyal Death Eaters for a meeting. Turning back to the castle, Wraith waited.   
  
A few minutes later, Snape appeared at the front doors, moving swiftly towards the gates.   
  
"Severus," she called, her voice echoing oddly across the empty grounds between them.   
  
Snape turned, surprised that she was still there. Wraith held out her hand. Snape hesitated a moment and then went to her. When she continued to hold her hand up, he folded his own hand around it, sighing.   
  
"We really ought to stop walking away from each other angry," he said wryly, "Wraith, I can't even fix things if you _stay_  in the room, how am I suppose to do so when you leave?"   
  
"I don't think we  _can_  fix this, Sev," Wraith replied, "I think it's just something we'll have to deal with."   
  
Snape had no argument.   
  
"Come on," Wraith said, "You can ride with me."   
  
Snape looked over to the thestral apprehensively. "Oh, very well."   
  
Wraith laughed at the tone of his voice, releasing his hand so that she could mount the thestral. It was only then that Snape took account of her dress. There was a split in the skirt that reached up to her thigh, her legs enclosed in tall black boots that reached her knees, leaving still a great deal of pale skin exposed.   
  
Snape raised an eyebrow at her and she flashed him a wicked grin. "Yes," she told him, reading the thought clearly in his eyes, "I  _do_  live to make you uncomfortable."   
  
With a sigh, Snape levered himself up onto Hakuul's back behind Wraith.   
  
"Best hang on," she warned him.   
  
Snape gingerly put his hands at her waist and Wraith snapped the reins. Hakuul wheeled about, his great black wings beating the air on either side of his riders. Snape's grip became a little tighter as the thestral shot himself into the air.  
  
  
  
  
The ride had Snape utterly chilled to the bone. He could not fathom how Wraith seemed so unaffected by the cutting winds, especially considering her dress. After what seemed an eternity to him, Snape realized that they were dropping closer to the ground. His eyes were just able to make out the large Manor that seemed to almost a blot upon the forested landscape.   
  
"Fascinating, isn't it?" Wraith called over the wind.   
  
"Seems out of place," Snape replied.   
  
"It is," Wraith said and now Snape had to struggle to hear her, "Out of time  _and_  out of place. It doesn't belong here anymore."   
  
They landed at the edge of the trees to the side of the Manor. The lights from the Manor barely touched them. Snape was dismounting when Wraith gave a soft warning hiss.   
  
Someone was approaching them from the Manor's side door, walking just at the edge of the Rose Maze. Wraith tilted her head up and held a hand out to Snape so that he could help her down. The moment that her feet touched the ground, the figure approaching became visible in the weak light.   
  
Seeing his face now, Wraith smiled easily. "Antony," she said, "I hope we're not the last to arrive?"   
  
"Oh, no, my Lady," Harper replied, his smile matching hers, "The others have only just begun to arrive. You're right on time, really."   
  
"Hm," Wraith murmured, slipping her arm around Harper's. They and Snape started up to the Manor. "And what of our Lord's mood?" she asked in an undertone. "Do you know why the meeting has been called?"   
  
"He doesn't seem overly angry about anything," Harper said, thinking, "I'd imagine that it will have something to do with the thwarted raid last night."   
  
A few steps behind the pair of them, Snape's eyes sharpened on Harper's back. Had he underestimated the boy's intelligence? Just how observant was he?   
  
They slipped in through the side door and Snape saw Wraith's eyes dart toward the Rose Maze as they passed it. When they came to the drawing room, Wraith released Harper's arm and entered the doors alone, with the other two slightly behind her.   
  
A slow, darkly sweet, smile came to her face as she met the Dark Lord's eyes from his place at the head of the long table."My Lord," she said, pausing to bow her head to him as she walked along the table.   
  
"My Lady," he replied, his gaze darting briefly to both Harper and Snape before they came to rest on Wraith once more. "You've been away from the Manor a great deal today."   
  
Wraith's smiled widened at the slight trace of suspicion she heard in his voice. She leaned down as she passed behind his chair and her lips brushed his cheek. "I went to visit Severus," she told him simply.   
  
"I see," Voldemort said, his eyes still on her as she slipped off her coat and threw it over the back of her chair.   
  
There was a very soft, nearly inaudible in fact,  _clink_  from one of the coat's pockets and Voldemort saw his Wraith freeze, frowning. Then she blinked and her face cleared.   
  
"I forgot," she murmured, reaching into the pocket. She pulled out the golden medallion and Voldemort recognized it at once. Seeing his look, Wraith held it up, shrugging slightly. "I'd lost it at the Malfoys' during the full moon," she told him softly, "The chain broke."   
  
She had only just sat down when the Dark Lord's hand lashed out and grabbed her by the wrist. His eyes were narrowed dangerously and it only took Wraith a moment to realize why.   
  
There was still blood on the gold.   
  
"The chain broke when that werewolf tore into my chest," she whispered, making the Dark Lord look from the medallion to her eyes. "I hadn't realized, in the wake of everything else, that I had left it."   
  
Wraith suddenly shuddered just slightly and Voldemort felt it. A small discomforted noise escaped her.   
  
"What is it?" Voldemort asked, keeping a tight hold on her wrist still.   
  
"Nothing," Wraith said dismissively, "it was just a passing thought."   
  
"What were you thinking, my Wraith?"   
  
Wraith met his eyes again and pitched her voice low enough that only he would be able to hear her speak. "…That if the wolf had gone for my throat instead of my shoulder…he might have very well ended me."   
  
She pulled her wrist free of his grasp and sat back in her chair, turning her eyes away from him to take stock of who of the Death Eaters had already arrived. There were only a handful beyond herself, Snape, and Antony, and she and Voldemort were the only ones who had taken their places at the table. The rest milled about the room, clearly waiting for orders from the Dark Lord.   
  
Rabastan Lestrange was there, though his brother and sister-in-law had not yet arrived. Wraith mused that it was quite habitual for the younger Lestrange brother to arrive at these meetings before the others. Just as Wraith looked to him, he seemed to sense her gaze and turned to look right back at her. He looked lightly abashed in her eyes and she wondered if he was still regretting his sharp words to her the night of the full moon.  
  
It still struck her as strange for her to think that Avery would no longer be joining them at the table. Thorfinn's death was easier for her to think of as real, for obvious reasons, but Avery's death had not quite clicked in her mind yet.               
  
While she was still musing over this, several others arrived. Lucius and Draco were among them. Both of the Malfoys bowed to the Dark Lord and in turn his Lady as well. Wraith gave them a small smile and Draco hesitantly returned it. It was not long after that Bellatrix and her husband made an appearance. Bellatrix seemed to be in a fouler mood than usual and Wraith had to wonder if she had heard about the amount of time the Wraith had spent with her sister and son that morning. Even Rodolphus seemed extra caution around her.   
  
The Dark Lord, when it seemed that all were present, tapped one long finger upon the table's surface. It seemed to be the signal for everyone to take their seats. Wraith noted with curiously that the first seat to her left was left empty. She did not have long to wonder, for one last guest appeared in the doorway.   
  
"Ah, Rafe," Voldemort said as curious eyes all tuned to the door. "You're right on time. Please, be seated."   
  
Rafe stepped into the room, plainly ignoring the many looks he was getting from the Death Eaters, and he took the empty chair that Wraith had been wondering about. It was only after he was seated that he glanced at Wraith and gifted her with a cheshire grin. She returned it, wondering still why Voldemort had called for him.   
  
"My loyal Death Eaters," Voldemort began and all eyes turned to him at once, "We, quite unfortunately, played our hand too quickly last night, allowing our enemies yet another opportunity to thwart us. The  _will not_  happened again. The destruction of one of the Order's last safe-houses was a victory in itself, but we've little to show for it. We must proceed with both caution and cunning; else our enemies slip through our grasp."   
  
Wraith shifted slightly in her seat, her eyes on the Dark Lord, but her focus on Snape at Voldemort's right.  _He is truly a great player_ , she thought, wondering how many of these meetings he had sat through and kept perfect silence.  _I've a lot I could learn from him._    
  
"Opportunity has presented itself again tonight," Voldemort continued, "Rafe."   
  
The werewolf sat up straighter and the eyes turned back to him. "My pack has been interrogating those closest to our traitors the last couple of nights. There are apparently a number of locations where they and your own rebels may seek shelter. We are deploying our best trackers to pick up again trails to be had. I myself will be joining them."   
  
"And so with one enemy gone to ground, fate hands us a chance at another," Wraith said slowly, smiling sweetly at Rafe.   
  
"I imagine my Lady would like a chance at revenge—from what I've heard about the full moon."   
  
"Ah, but you obviously haven't heard enough. I've had my revenge against the wolf that mauled me," Wraith told him, crystal eyes burning darkly, though her tone remained mild. "That wolf is dead."   
  
Voldemort stroked his hand down Wraith's cheek and she saw the approval in his eyes. She leaned into his touch slightly and down the table, Draco was suddenly reminded of the comparison he'd once told Zabini: How much like a chained tiger the Wraith seemed at the Dark Lord's side.   
  
"I would like to deploy a few of my Death Eaters to assist you in your hunt tonight, Rafe," Voldemort said, "I promise they will not get in your way."   
  
"I accept their assistance full heartedly," Rafe said, and Wraith wondered if she was the only one to hear the sarcasm embedded in the words. "Will you join us as well, my Lord?" Rafe asked.   
  
"No, I do not see the need. I have confidence in your trackers, after all. I have seen Ze'eva's skill with my own eyes," Voldemort said.   
  
"My Lord," Wraith said, her voice low, "If I may—?"   
  
"Speak, my Lady," Voldemort told her.   
  
"As to our other enemy—there is still the younger Weasley," she said, "I could look into his mind as I did his father's. Perhaps he knows something his father did not."   
  
Voldemort smiled slowly. "A sound proposition, my Lady," he said, "I approve."   
  
Wraith returned his smiled, catching Snape's eyes briefly.   
  
"We will close in from all sides," Voldemort said to those gathered, "Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan—you shall be among those that join the wolves in their hunt. Lucius, you and your son will assist as well."   
  
"I thank you, my Lord," Lucius stated clearly, "We do relish the chance for vengeance against those that attacked our home."   
  
Voldemort nodded, as if he had expected no less. "That will do for now, my followers," he said, "You are dismissed for the time being."   
  
Wraith quickly caught Quincy's eye and gestured silently for him to remain behind. Understanding, the young Death Eater nodded slightly. The other Death Eaters stood and began to file out of the room, though those that the Dark Lord had named milled about in the entrance hall to received further orders.   
  
Wraith stood, walking around the back of Rafe's chair, sliding her hands down his shoulders. "Well done, my wolf," she told him, her voice smooth and sweet.   
  
"I am pleased to serve the Dark Lord," Rafe replied, turning his head to see her, "and his Lady."   
Wraith grinned at him and then turned her attention back to the Dark Lord.  "Does my Lord wish for me to join the hunt tonight as well?" she asked him.   
  
"My Lady's presence would be much welcomed," Rafe said, glancing between them.   
  
"I don't believe it will be necessary," Voldemort said lightly, "Beyond that, my Wraith, I would have you search the younger Weasley's mind tomorrow night at the latest. I would have you well rested."   
  
"As my Lord commands," Wraith said, bowing her head. She leaned down over Rafe's shoulder, "Another time then, my wolf," she murmured into his ear, "There will be other hunts for us to share."   
  
"I look forward to it," Rafe replied honestly.   
  
Still grinning, Wraith straightened and went to stand beside Voldemort. "Will you be joining me, my Lord?"   
  
"In time," Voldemort told her, "There are a number of things I must discuss further with Rafe."   
  
"Very well," Wraith said, letting her hand linger upon his arm as she slowly stepped away.   
  
"My Wraith."   
  
She paused, looking back to him. "Yes, my Lord?"   
  
"There is one other thing that you should prepare yourself for," Voldemort told her, "There have been whisperings at Gringotts, though no official word has come to me yet, that the goblins wish to speak with you again."   
  
Wraith's grin took on a feral and darkly pleased edge. "They do take their time with such things, don't they?"   
  
"They are more willing to bargain with you than any other I have ever sent," Voldemort said.   
  
"Of course they are," Wraith replied lightly, "I am an unknown to them. I peak their curiosity and I stand apart from the wizards who have oppressed them so very long."   
  
"You seem certain that you can reach an accord with them," Voldemort commented.   
  
"Oh, I am," Wraith said slowly, "I can be very persuasive, after all."   
  
The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed and swept over her form. "I am well aware," he said. "Go and play somewhere else, pet, I'll call upon you later."   
  
Wraith turned on her heel, laughing. "Don't call me 'pet'," she reminded him tartly as she left the room.  
  
In the hall, her eyes found Snape near the stair, along with Harper. Joining them, she cast her gaze out over the others that remained. "The Dark Lord is occupied for the moment," she said very softly, "Severus, I need to speak with you still. Harper, will you join us?"   
  
"I think it's better if I stay here," Harper admitted, his eyes on the three Lestranges, "Better to stand guard over the dungeons. I know what those three like to do when they're bored."   
  
"Hm, agreed," Wraith said, glaring over at the Lestranges herself. "Come then, Sev. I doubt we have much time."   
  
Together, Wraith and Snape hurried up the staircase. Wraith waited until they had nearly reached her tower before she spoke. "The goblins will likely be calling upon me soon," she told him, "Remember what I told you before?"   
  
"You will have them swear to you rather than the Dark Lord," Snape remembered clearly. "The goblins, I admit, don't concern me as much as the wolves do. Rafe is far sharper than his predecessor. If they do manage to track down the rebels, both wolf and wizard, there is little we can do to help them."   
  
"The wolves need not concern you at all," Wraith said. "I'd forgotten to tell you."   
  
"Tell me what?" Snape demanded, pausing a moment when they reached the spiral stairs to the tower.   
  
"The wolves are  _mine_ ," Wraith replied, smiling at him over her shoulder. "Rafe has made a separate pact with me that will void the one he made with Voldemort when the time comes."   
  
Snape blinked at her. "I…am impressed," he admitted. "Are you certain that Rafe will hold to it?"   
  
"I have bound him to it," Wraith said, "and to silence as well. I am building my power base, Severus, and the pieces are falling into place." She closed the door to her tower behind them as Snape sat on the couch with a sigh. "You mentioned that the rebels have a master potion-maker among them," Wraith recalled, "Have you any idea who it may be?"   
  
"Why do you ask?"   
  
"I want to know who is valuable," she replied flatly.   
  
"I have an idea, though I do not know for certain," Snape said hesitantly. "It could very well be Talbot himself."  
  
"Why do you hesitate?" Wraith asked.   
  
"Because the reason I say it could be Talbot is that his son was a near  _prodigy_  with potions that brief time he was at Hogwarts."   
  
"You're thinking that it's really the son who brewed that Wolfsbane potion, aren't you?"   
  
"I am," Snape admitted.   
  
"I suppose we'll find out if they've any success tonight," Wraith murmured.   
  
"I should actually go," Snape said, standing again, "Before the Dark Lord finishes with Rafe."   
  
"True," Wraith sighed, "I will come to see you if the goblins send for me."   
  
"Wraith, one last thing," Snape said, "You volunteered to read Bill Weasley's mind."   
  
"Yes, I did," Wraith said with a slow smile, "But I didn't volunteer to be truthful when I report about what I find inside."  
  
"Clever girl," Snape muttered, shaking his head.


	69. Fall Into Place

_"That was a mean low sneaky underhanded trick...and I'm quite pleased with myself."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith walked back down with Snape to the entrance hall, and they both paused at the top of the staircase when they saw that Rafe was leading the chosen Death Eaters out of the Manor. Wraith was pleased to see Quincy among those leaving with the werewolf. That was a subject she'd meant to broach with the Dark Lord. Once the hunters had left, Wraith and Snape continued down to the hall.   
  
"I will let you know if the goblins contact me," Wraith promised, her voice low as they reached the front doors. "Keep your head down, Sev," she added.   
  
"I would give you the same advice, were I not sure that it would go unheeded," Snape said dryly, making Wraith smile. "There is still a great deal we need to discuss, child."   
  
"I know," she replied in a whisper, "We'll speak again soon."   
  
Snape nodded, "Farewell, my Lady." He drew up the hood of his cloak and disappeared through the doors.   
  
Wraith glanced around the hall and saw that Harper was still standing to the side of the staircase. She crossed to him and smirked when she realized he was half-asleep leaning against the banister. It wasn't until she touched his shoulder that he even realized she was there. With a start, Harper's head snapped up and he quickly shook it as if to clear it. Blinking still, he turned to see Wraith smirking at him. With an abashed sort of grin, he rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. He opened his mouth to speak, but then quickly shut it, his eyes darting to something behind Wraith.   
  
Seeing his look, Wraith glanced over her shoulder to see the Dark Lord leaving the drawing room. His inhuman eyes immediately lit to her and Harper near the stairs. Wraith's slight smirk became a dark smile.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort said, taking his time in crossing the hall to her, "Shall we retire?" he asked, holding out his hand to her, with a brief scalding glare at Harper.   
  
"As my Lord wishes," Wraith said with false sweetness, slipping her hand into his. "I couldn't help but notice Quincy leaving with the rest," Wraith said lightly as they walked the halls to the Dark Lord's tower, "May I assume we have Rafe's answer on that account?"   
  
"You may," Voldemort told her, "Rafe has agreed to bring Quincy into his pack."   
  
"Very good," Wraith murmured, "It could present us with countless opportunities later on, should we need them."   
  
Voldemort smirked slightly and started up the twisting stair of his tower, Wraith only a step behind him. As Wraith closed the door behind them, Voldemort flicked his wand towards the fireplace, lighting it. Voldemort went to his chair behind the desk and settled into it, his eyes fixing on Wraith.   
  
Wraith walked slowly towards the desk, sensing an almost thoughtful air around the Dark Lord. She leaned her hip against the desk and crossed her arms, waiting.   
  
Voldemort gestured to her, "The medallion," he said.   
  
Wraith blinked at him and then drew the medallion from her pocket again, allowing it to drop into the Dark Lord's waiting hand. Voldemort turned the gold in his hand, as if studying it. Then he tapped his wand to the broken chain and it mended in an instant. When he offered it back to Wraith, she tilted her head to the side, curious at the simple action. Nonetheless, she took the medallion back. Glancing down at it, she passed her hand over it. The blood that had dried upon it seemed to melt into the gold, leaving a reddish tint where it had been. Pleased with the effect, Wraith slipped the chain over her head.   
  
"That was quite the morbid little thought that crossed your mind earlier, my Wraith," Voldemort commented.   
  
"Not the first that I've had," Wraith replied lightly, "Nor was it the first time I've come close to death." She sighed, leaning against the desk again, "Though I admit, the thought did disturb me."   
  
"I did not much care for it either," Voldemort said.   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. "Would my Lord  _miss_  me if I died?" she asked, dark humor coloring her words.  
  
"That depends."   
  
"On?"   
  
"Whether or not I'd killed you myself," Voldemort replied.   
  
Wraith smiled very slowly and without taking her eyes from him, she began to unlace the front of her dress. "And if someone else killed me?" she asked.   
  
Voldemort stood, his mouth twisted into something akin to a smile. "I would be very…" He took hold of the lacing of her dress and pulled her close to him. "…angry," he murmured, "at whoever dared to steal your power from me. And I would be very angry with you…for letting yourself get killed."   
  
Wraith's smile went sharp. "That's my Lord," she whispered.  
  
  
  
  
Wraith left him sleeping in his bed, and being unable to rest herself, she went outside into the cold night air. Snow was falling softly on the grounds of the Manor, a thin blanket of white across wraith's field of vision. She walked slowly, carving a path through the ice, towards the forest where she could see Hakuul through the trees. The thestral seemed to sense her presence and trotted towards her, his breath visible in the light of the waning moon. Wraith brushed her hand down his neck, taking comfort in his company.   
  
Her mind drifted back to Voldemort's sleeping form and her eyes took on a sharp glint. She knew now the truth of his maimed and bloody soul, and why he had asked her to guard the locket that had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin. But in truth, she was not certain what good it would do her to know his grand secret. After all, it was not the most important one. It was not  _her_  secret.   
  
She could still hear his voice and those soft betraying words that had escaped him the night before.   
  
 _Little bird…how does he know those words…and why do I_ hate  _them so much? I very nearly attacked him for them, but why…?_  
  
Unbidden came a memory, lit by sunlight, of Edwin and their time together:  _"Well, hello, little bird."_  The memory shocked her and she frowned suddenly. The words had been so innocent then, but she could remember clearly the warmth that had come over her when he'd called her that. He'd only been referring to her bird-like whistle and the fact that she'd been hiding up in a tree—but still, she was suddenly disturbed by the fact that her love had uttered those same words to her ages ago.   
  
 _It isn't the words themselves,_ she realized,  _I didn't feel that flash of hatred when Edwin said them…only when the Dark Lord did. What connection does Voldemort have to that man in my nightmares? What does he know?_    
  
With a sigh, almost one of irritation, Wraith pulled herself up onto Hakuul's back and took the reins in her hands. As the thestral turned round to run across the snow-strewn grounds, Wraith's mind turned to the flash of what felt like a memory that had overwhelmed her the first time she'd ridden the thestral. In her mind's eye she saw herself mounted upon the back of a pure white horse. She'd been sitting astride in the saddle and it had felt like she was breaking some rule by doing so. The memory was terribly clouded and had more to do with touch than sight. But still, her body remembered how to ride as if she'd been doing so all of her life.   
  
 _Things are happening quickly,_  Wraith thought darkly as she rode through the night,  _I'll have my answers…even if it kills me._    
  
  
  
  
 _La Magia_  was a much more subdued presence in the daytime, the building seemed all the more old and weary. Inside, those that worked the pub during the night were bedded down for the early hours of morning, resting their bodies and voices so that they could entertain once night fell again. But the pub was not completely still.   
  
Down in the main room, the morning sun drifting through the windows, Ms. Roz was seated quite comfortably at the empty bar. Sipping from a mug of strong tea, the woman had her eyes on the door. Before she had waited long, there was a soft knock upon the aging wood.   
  
"Come on in," she called out to the visitor.   
  
Hesitantly, Minerva McGonagall pushed open the door, wincing when it creaked loudly in the quiet. The elder woman wore a Muggle dress and coat, along with a smart hat to partially hide her face.   
  
"Found us, all right then?" Ms. Roz asked, "No trouble?"   
  
"No," McGonagall replied, her eyes scanning the dimly lit room as she crossed to the bar.   
  
"Good, good," Ms. Roz said, "May I offer you a cuppa?"   
  
"Please," McGonagall said, her hesitation still very clear.   
  
"Have a seat," Ms. Roz said as she stood to get a cup of tea, "You look quite ready to fall flat on your face, dearie."   
  
McGonagall took the bar stool beside the one that Ms. Roz had been sitting, looking rather uncomfortable. "Ms. Fallon—"   
  
"Roz, please," the woman insisted with a crooked smile, " _Ms. Fallon_  makes me feel older than I'd care to."   
  
"Ms. Roz," McGonagall said, "Edwin Rowle claims that you have…offered to help us."   
  
"And you have your doubts about why?"   
  
"Frankly—yes, I do," McGonagall stated.   
  
Ms. Roz sighed, setting another mug in front of McGonagall and then reaching for her own. "I've kept my head down for good reason, McGonagall," she said, "Now, I may be a half-blood and safe from those smarmy Death Eaters on that account, but the fact is that I am near a squib myself and have always supported the co-mingling of magic and Muggle blood. Look at my pub," she said, gesturing to the room at large, "I've welcomed every sort in here and made that very clear. But I've never officially chosen a side. It is  _only_  that which gives me slight protection. That—and a few powerful old friends."   
  
"Why the offer of help, then?" McGonagall demanded.   
  
"Because I'm very fond of Mr. Rowle and Clara is one of the best things to happen to this pub in a long time. And things are getting worse. I can't stay out of it any longer and still call myself a good woman," Ms. Roz confessed, "So I'm going to help you, little as I can."   
  
"You've a place we can hide safely?"   
  
"I've several," Ms. Roz said with a smirk, "I'm out here in the backwoods by choice, McGonagall. See, I'm a rather wealthy woman. I've properties in London that are empty at the moment. If your lot doesn't mind splitting up a bit, I can hide you comfortably in them."   
  
McGonagall blinked, quite plainly surprised.   
  
Ms. Roz gave her a crooked smile again. "My father, who was a wizard by the by, was independently wealthy, lived quite comfortably on inheritance and I've been doing much the same, adding the income I get from this place. Anyway, I've a small townhouse in London that'll hold a few of you and another space I'd intended to make another pub out of that's empty right now. There's another place too, but it's quite run down. I haven't had a chance to fix it up. Used to be an apartment building and I'd hoped to get it open again, but if you don't mind a bit of dust, it'll do as well."   
  
"…Are any of them protected?" McGonagall asked, seemingly despite herself.   
  
"Just a few small charms against thieves, but you're welcome to add to them, of course," Ms. Roz said with a shrug, "Like I told you, I'm not much a witch."   
  
McGonagall looked the woman over, judging her to be somewhere in her early to mid-thirties. "…Did you attend Hogwarts?" she asked.   
  
"Nope, my father home-schooled me," Ms. Roz said, "So, you wouldn't have had me as a student."   
  
"What do you know about the Wraith?"   
  
Ms. Roz raised an eyebrow at the abrupt question. "I know who she is, never met her personally…but she's been here to the pub once that I know of," she said, "I also know that Clara's met her a couple of times…and I know that she is very important to Rowle. Why do you ask?"   
  
"It was the Wraith who broke the Fidelius charm around our last safe-house," McGonagall said, "I am concerned that it could happen again."   
  
"Well, how did she manage to break it the first time?"   
  
"I have no idea," McGonagall confessed.   
  
"Hm, that is a problem," Ms. Roz agreed.   
  
"You mentioned…that you had a few powerful old friends," McGonagall said, "Would you care to elaborate?"   
  
"Old friends of the family," Ms. Roz replied rather ambiguously.   
  
"Would they be willing to help us like they do you?"   
  
Ms. Roz sighed deeply, "I'm afraid I'd have to say…probably not. They keep to themselves, more often than not. And offering a bit of protection to a little backwoods pub is a little different than aiding and abetting in a war."   
  
McGonagall sighed as well. "It was a thought," she murmured sadly. She jumped slightly at the sound of a door creaking open and her eyes immediately went to the front door, but it turned out to be the door behind the bar itself.   
  
Bleary-eyed and her short hair looking like a bird's nest, Clara stumbled through the doorway. She paused only to lean against the doorframe and yawn widely.   
  
Ms. Roz smirked. "Morning, Clara-dove," she said drawlingly.   
  
"Coffee," was Clara's mumbled reply and she stumbled over towards the kitchen entrance. She then stopped, blinking several times, and looked back to the bar. "Professor McGonagall?"   
  
"Good morning, Miss Bauman," McGonagall said, raising a brow.   
  
Clara blinked again. "Am I missing something? Homework, maybe?"   
  
Ms. Roz snorted out a laugh and hid her smile behind her mug of tea.   
  
McGonagall shook her head, amused. "No, Miss Bauman."   
  
"Okay then," Clara said, yawning again, "Coffee."   
  
Ms. Roz managed to keep silent until Clara disappeared into the kitchen and the moment the coast was clear, she burst into laughter. "Ah," she said, miming wiping a tear from her eye, "Poor Clara. She's a bloody zombie in the mornings. Usually I can't get her up until noon or so, the hours she keeps at night."   
  
There were further footsteps from behind the door and the two women heard muffled laughter before Edwin and Alexis appeared. Alex started when she saw McGonagall sitting at the bar with Ms. Roz, but Edwin smiled easily. "Good morning, Professor," he said, "I'm glad you made it."   
  
"Good morning, Mr. Rowle," McGonagall said.  
  
"Is everyone else okay?"   
  
"For the time being," McGonagall said, "Ms. Roz and I were just discussing our options."   
  
"And isn't it nice to know you have them?" Ms. Roz commented.   
  
Alexis hid a smile behind her hand at the woman's dry tone. "Did Clara stagger through here?" she asked.   
  
"That she did," Ms. Roz said, pointing towards the kitchen, "Her words, or word rather, was 'coffee'. She'll be back there trying to get the pot on. Judging by her demeanor though, she'll need a little help."   
  
"Coffee sounds good," Edwin said, taking Alexis's hand in his and pulling her along.   
  
"They're good kids," Ms. Roz said softly when the two had disappeared into the kitchen.   
  
"They are," McGonagall agreed, "I worry about them."   
  
"You're thinking about the Wraith again, aren't you?"   
  
"I am," McGonagall confessed, "Rowle is so very…enamored with her. But it's so very hard to know where she stands."   
  
"We've heard quite a few dark rumors round here concerning her," Ms. Roz said, "But at the same time…Well, Clara seems to adore her. There must be a bit of good somewhere in there."    
  
McGonagall had the sudden suspicion that Ms. Roz knew more than she was saying, but she didn't press the subject. Instead, she was quiet, thinking of her own assorted encounters with the Wraith.   
  
 _"Wraith…why do you kill for him?"  
  
"I'm not going to waste my breath explaining fealty to you."   
  
The dungeons…she cried for me when she was ordered to heal me…what was that she said when I thanked her…? "I told you not to thank me! All I've done is prolong your suffering, caused you more pain! There is nothing to thank. You'd have been better off if I'd let him kill you!" _  
  
"I never know what to think of her," McGonagall murmured, "Every time that I think I know her, she does something that completely contradicts it."   
  
"Women have always been natural contradictions," Ms. Roz said, "She'll show her true colors in the end, no doubt."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith spent the day ensconced in her tower, and she was grateful that the Dark Lord did not come knocking at her door. She had only slept a little the night before, her mind too full of her own plots and planning that she could not rest.   
  
That night, she would venture down to the dungeons again and delve into Bill Weasley's mind. She wondered if he actually would know of another safe-house, but it hardly mattered in the end. She had no intention of sharing any information she might find. The whole thing was merely intended as a diversion, something to once again cement in the Dark Lord's mind that she was his to control. An utter lie.   
  
Wraith felt her stomach knot uncomfortably though, with that thought.  _It is a lie that he controls me still…but gods damn it all, I am still in part his_. She'd realized last night that she was still oddly comforted by his presence and the thought disturbed her. The fact that they were lovers now seemed to make it all the worse.   
  
Wraith shifted in her seat on the chaise, her eyes on the cloud-strewn sky outside, and she suddenly felt so terribly alone. She bit down hard on the encompassing feeling and turned her mind sharply to her plans.   
  
 _I need the goblins_ ¸ she thought dispassionately,  _if I can convince them to make an accord with me, then that's one more bit of power that I steal from Voldemort's hands. He's distracted enough now that it wouldn't even occur to him to suspect something when the goblins bind themselves to me rather than to him_. Which was exactly what she needed.   
  
The sky outside was darkening just slightly, signaling to Wraith that night would come soon enough. With a sigh, Wraith uncurled herself from the chaise and stood. She was wearing the strapless gown with the green embroidered snakes in the bodice, one that the Dark Lord had commented on. Wraith recalled clearly that she had been wearing it when Voldemort had found out that she had taken a lover in his absence. She wondered if he would recognize the dress.   
  
With that thought in mind, Wraith descended from her tower and made her way down to the entrance hall. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes drifting over to the drawing room doors. She smiled just slightly when she heard Harper's voice coming from the room and she changed her course.   
  
In the drawing room, Harper was seated in front of the fireplace, his shoulders damp from snow. He was grinning, shaking a little snow from his hair. To Wraith's surprise, Draco was sitting in a chair not far from Harper and it was plain that she had interrupted their conversation. It was Draco who saw her first and she was pleased to see that there was no fear in his eyes as he looked over to her. He stood immediately and bowed low to her.   
  
"My Lady."   
  
"Good evening, Draco," she said, smiling gently, "What brings you here?"   
  
"Harper and I were in school together," Draco said hesitantly, "I just thought I'd come to see him."   
  
Wraith was suddenly curious about Draco's other friends. Had she scared Zabini so much that he had not kept in touch with Draco at all? "I see," she said, "Well, I'm afraid that I have to borrow him for a just a moment. I hope you don't mind."   
  
"Of course not," Draco said quickly.   
  
Harper stood up and crossed to where Wraith stood in the doorway. "How might I be of service to you, my Lady?" he asked, giving her a bow as well.   
  
"I'm going down to the dungeons. I told the Dark Lord I'd take a peek into Bill Weasley's mind, see what else there might be to find. I'd like you to watch my back."   
  
"As my Lady commands," Harper told her.   
  
Wraith considered him for a brief moment. She wanted to bring him into her confidence completely, and she already knew that he had guessed a great deal already. But she worried about his safety. He was, after all, still a Death Eater and in danger of the Dark Lord's wrath should he be discovered. But despite the dark thought that crossed her mind, Wraith smiled at Harper, reaching up a hand to brush his cheek. "Come then," she said.   
  
"My Lady?" Draco said, making her pause, "Is there anything I can do to help?"   
  
Wraith blinked, surprised at his volunteering. "Why don't you come down as well?" she suggested, "You can keep Harper company at the very least. I noticed the other night that when I was reading Arthur Weasley's mind that the world rather disappears on me, I'm far too focused to see anything else. That's why I wanted Harper to guard me, as it were."   
  
Draco nodded quickly and he fell into step beside Harper as the three of them headed down the hall towards the dungeons. Just as she reached the door, however, Wraith stopped again, looking up to the stairs.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort said, leaning over the banister to see her, "What are you up to?"   
  
"Going to have a talk with the younger Weasley," Wraith replied with a slight smirk, "As I said I would."   
  
"Ah, good girl," Voldemort said, smiling, "You'll let me know what you find?"   
  
"Naturally, my Lord," Wraith told him. She glanced at Harper and Draco. "Let's go, boys," she said, gesturing for them to follow.   
  
Down in the dungeon, their presence was immediately realized. Arthur Weasley stood at the front of his cell and he reached out an imploring hand to Wraith as she passed.   
  
"You broke the Fidelius charm," he said, his tone accusing, "What happened to the safe-house?"   
  
"It isn't 'safe' anymore," Wraith told him, smirking still. When the man paled dangerously, Wraith rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't give me that look. You can stop worrying about them. Your lot escaped once again. Thus, why I'm down here again. We're going to see what your son knows."   
  
She heard Bill cursed under his breath and her smirk widened as she reached him. He was standing as if ready to fight, his fists clenched at his sides and his eyes narrowed.   
  
"Down boy," Wraith murmured sarcastically, gesturing.   
  
Bill was forced down onto his knees and Wraith stepped into the cell. Kneeling in front of him, Wraith took his face into her hands and looked into his eyes.   
  
 _Calm down, silly man._  Bill started when he heard her voice so clearly in his head and he blinked.  _I've already given my promise that your family will be safe. What more do you want? Now, be still._  
  
  
  
  
It was more than two hours later that Wraith finally stirred. She blinked rapidly and shook her head. Standing, she swayed slightly and Harper was suddenly at her side, supporting her.   
  
"My Lady?"   
  
"I'm alright," Wraith said, "Just a little tired."   
  
"Did you find anything?" Draco asked, looking into the cell.   
  
"Not a damned thing," Wraith muttered wearily. "Harper, give me a hand up the stairs. I need to report to our Lord."   
  
Harper put a hand under her arm and started to lead her away. As she left the cell, Wraith glanced back to see the absolutely astonished look on Bill's face. Amused, Wraith winked at him before she passed out of his sight.


	70. Words

_"False words are not only evil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil."_  
  
  
  
  
The Dark Lord was not pleased to hear that his Wraith had gleaned nothing new from the younger Weasley's mind, but he readily accepted her word on the matter. Wraith herself was pleased with the trust that Voldemort placed in her word and she hoped that with the deception she had bought the prisoners below a little time to rest.   
  
Things were quiet enough for the next week, with the Death Eaters who had gone with Rafe reporting regularly as their hunt took them across the country. Each time she sat with the Dark Lord to hear these reports, often through the Floo network, she asked him if he wanted her to join in the hunt. But each time, Voldemort told her no. She would have her chance to play her part when the traitors were captured.   
  
And so, Wraith simply waited. In her mind were half-formed plans to spare the life of the Talbot boy should he be captured, whether or not he'd made the Wolfsbane potion that allowed the werewolves to get the best of her the night of the full moon. His father likely stood no chance to be returned to the Manor alive, he had wounded the pride of too many of his hunters to escape it. But his son had a chance, especially if Wraith was able to covertly help him. Wraith knew that, though she didn't often admit it to herself, a part of her wanted to make amends for killing the boy's mother. It would not be enough, she realized, but it was all she had to give to him.   
  
It was nearly a week later, in the earliest hours of the morning, that Wraith took Hakuul out for a ride. She enjoyed these morning rides, the quiet that surrounded the Manor and the forest around it. That morning, she took Hakuul out beyond the borders of the Manor, riding hard through the twisting paths between the trees, exhilarated by the cold wind in her face that swept her hair back.   
  
But as she rode, she felt something, the briefest hint of familiar magic, at the edge of her mind and she brought the thestral to a sudden stop. She wheeled him around and headed back towards the borders of the Manor. Her attentiveness was rewarded when a thin, disheveled figure appeared within her sight a moment later. The man stopped as suddenly as she had when he realized that he was not alone. Bringing his eyes up to hers, he grinned alarmingly and swept his hat off of his ragged head to bow mockingly at her.   
  
"Good morrow, Grindelwald," Wraith said, her voice laced with that same dark humor.   
  
The wizard straightened, still grinning. As he had the night that she had first met him, Grindelwald twirled his wand around his fingers.   
  
"That was a clever trick of yours the night of the new moon," she told him.   
  
Grindelwald shrugged lightly, accepting her praise, biting at it was.  
  
"You are such a tease," Wraith accused him when he remained silent.   
  
Grindelwald's grin widened and Wraith got the impression that he was silently laughing at her.   
  
Wraith tilted her head to the side as she studied him. "Did your time at Nurmengard steal your tongue?" she asked him cuttingly and she was pleased by his answering scowl. "Have you no words for me, wizard?"   
  
Grindelwald was now glaring up at her, a dark and threatening gaze that Wraith seemed unaffected by. He took a step back and began to turn.   
  
"Well," Wraith said quickly, hoping to catch him before he disappeared again, "I suppose that's alright, seeing as I have a few words for you."   
  
Grindelwald ignored her, continuing on.   
  
 _"'Forgive me, Albus, but I cannot let him have it.'"_  
  
Grindelwald froze. Slowly, he turned back to face her, his eyes narrowed.   
  
Wraith now grinned, knowing that she had him. "What is it that you could not let him have?" she asked, dismounting so that she was on equal footing with him, "He will not tell me himself. He says that I simply do not need to know. But curiosity can be  _such_  a disease, can't it?" She took a single step towards him. "So what did you take from Dumbledore that Voldemort so very wanted for his own?"   
  
Grindelwald seemed surprised and not a little amused by the fact that she had used the Dark Lord's name so casually.   
  
"…You should read up on your fairy tales," he told her, his voice low and harsh from disuse, "You'd be surprised at what you'd learn from them."   
  
Wraith blinked and then threw her head back to laugh. "Now there's an answer rife with further questions," she said with a cheshire grin, "Any particular tale I should be looking for?"   
  
Grindelwald smiled at her again and he shrugged. "That would be making things too easy," he replied, "You're obviously a clever girl."   
  
"Why, thank you," Wraith said, with her own mocking bow in his direction.   
  
"Aren't you going to ask what I'm doing here?" Grindelwald wondered.   
  
"I already know what you're doing here," Wraith told him, "You were testing the protections I've placed around the Manor's borders."   
  
The wizard stared at her. "…And how would you know that?"   
  
Now it was Wraith's turn to smile enigmatically. "It's enough that I know," she replied wryly, "But I will tell you…that you cannot breach them. There's no wizard or witch that can get around  _my_  magicks."   
  
"…The girl speaks as if she were not a witch," Grindelwald murmured, his eyes sharp upon her.   
  
Wraith raised a brow. "The girl is not," she said.   
  
"How interesting," Grindelwald whispered.   
  
"Best be on your way, wizard," Wraith told him, turning to mount Hakuul again, "There's no sense in you wasting your time."   
  
"Will you be telling your Lord that I was here?"   
  
"Would you be wanting me to?" Wraith asked him in turn.   
  
Grindelwald let out a dry laugh. "You're a strange one."   
  
"You're one to talk," Wraith replied, "You know—I have offered to hunt you for my Lord. He has always refused."   
  
Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. "To not use a tool so readily available could be deemed monumentally foolish."   
  
"Yes, it could," Wraith agreed dryly. "Be gone, wizard. I'm afraid I'll only allow you to escape this once. I'd gain too much favor with my Lord if I were to catch you to simply let you slip from my grasp."   
  
"If your own Lord cannot catch me, what makes you think you could do so?"   
  
Wraith's smile went sharp.   
  
The air around Grindelwald suddenly became heavy and with a hoarse breath, the frail-seeming man was forced down onto his knees.   
  
"I am not my Lord," Wraith told him, still smiling. "Believe me, wizard, if I truly wanted to catch you—I would."   
  
With that, Wraith snapped the thestral's reins, urging him to run. The moment she was out of sight, the spell on Grindelwald loosened its hold and he was able to stand again.   
  
For a long moment, he stood there at the boundary of the Manor, staring after the Wraith as if she were a puzzle he looked to solve.      
  
  
  
  
A few days later, Wraith had the pleasure of Snape's company for the evening. "Have they reported tonight?" he asked her, sitting in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, while Wraith stood at the window.   
  
"Not yet," Wraith replied, her eyes on something beyond the glass, "But they're due anytime now."   
  
"It's been over a week now," Snape said.   
  
"And they've nothing to show for their efforts," Wraith said, smiling. "I begin to think that Talbot and the rest have set a false trail."   
  
"And what about Vaisey?" Snape asked, "Isn't he hidden among them somewhere?"   
  
"Well, he's supposed to be," Wraith said, "That is another thing I wonder about. Yaxley is the one holding the boy's puppet strings, but he's had nothing to say about Vaisey for some time now."   
  
"You think they've figured out that the boy was a plant?"   
  
"That's what I'm afraid of," Wraith admitted.   
  
"Has all been quiet then?"   
  
"Beyond the reports," Wraith said, still staring out the window, "and they're starting to get repetitive. All they can say is that they haven't lost the trail, but haven't caught up with anyone yet. It's been the same story all bloody week."   
  
"Has the Dark Lord not asked you to join them?"   
  
"He hasn't," Wraith said, "Point of fact, I've  _volunteered_  to join the hunt, but he continually tells me no. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he wants to keep me close."   
  
The dark and impish tone of her voice made Snape shift uncomfortably where he sat. Wraith glanced at him, obviously amused at his uneasiness. She didn't know why she wasn't telling Snape about her encounter with Grindelwald. Actually, she couldn't even recall if she had told him that it had been Grindelwald who had set the Order upon them the night of the new moon. But some little part of her kept her tongue silent on the matter. It was almost as if it were a private game between her and the Dark wizard. She wanted to see how to would play out, just the two of them.   
  
"Wraith? Are you alright?"   
  
Wraith blinked, realizing that she had been lost in her own thoughts. "I'm fine," she said, looking to Snape with a small, almost embarrassed smile, "I was just thinking."   
  
"Do I want to know what about?" Snape asked dryly.   
  
"Probably not," Wraith replied with a smirk. She glanced out the window again—just in time to see the dark shape flying towards the glass.   
  
With a sharp breath, she stepped back. Her reaction caused Snape to stand quickly and cross to her. They both breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out to be a large owl, which fluttered in front of the window, waiting to be let in.   
  
"I don't know that owl," Wraith murmured as she unlocked the window and flung it open. The owl flew in, landing on the back of the chair Snape had been sitting in moments before. He carried a scroll in his beak and Wraith took it from him, seeing a very ornate golden seal upon it. She frowned, studying it. "Now, what is this?"   
  
The crest seemed to revolve around a stylized 'G', but there were words circled around it that Wraith could not read. It did not look like Latin. Not that she could actually read Latin, but she had seen it enough to recognize it.   
  
"That," Snape said, looking over her shoulder, "is Gringotts' official seal."   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed and she smiled slowly. "I see," she said softly. "Another piece comes into play."   
  
The owl, relieved of its burden, spread its wings and disappeared through the still open window. Wraith broke the seal of the scroll and pulled it open. Snape waited as she scanned the parchment, her eyes alight. When she brought those eyes to his, Snape felt a flash of uneasiness once more, but he quickly suppressed it.   
  
"I have to take this to the Dark Lord at once," Wraith said quickly. "The goblins have requested my presence. At last."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith slipped silently into the Dark Lord's tower, unsurprised to see him sitting behind his desk, his chair facing the fireplace. "Have they not reported yet?" she asked as she crossed the room.   
  
"No," Voldemort replied, with a slight scowl, "they are very nearly late, in fact." He turned his head as she came into his line of view and saw at once that she was hiding something behind her back. "What do you have there, my pet?" he demanded.   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed at the name and she smirked, tilting her head to the side. "How much does my Lord adore me?" she asked him slowly, her tone teasing.   
  
Curious now and yet a little irritated at her games, he considered her. "Why?"   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow at him, waiting. With a sigh, Voldemort rolled his eyes skyward and then gestured for her to come closer. Still smirking, Wraith did so, crawling up into his chair to straddle his lap, keeping one hand behind her back while the other she used to steady herself on his shoulder. "You haven't answered the question," she reminded him as his hands went to her waist.   
  
Voldemort matched her smirk and his hand slipped up her back. Wraith lifted her hand above her head when she felt the movement, keeping it out of his reach. Voldemort looked up and saw the scroll, his eyes catching sight of the broken golden seal. "What is that?" he asked.   
  
"Answer me and I'll tell you," Wraith retorted.   
  
"Hmph," Voldemort sneered, "Much more so when you do not play these games. Does that answer you?"   
  
Wraith sighed and dropped her hand, holding the scroll between them. Voldemort took the scroll and Wraith leaned back so that he could open and read it. But before he did so, Voldemort cast one more amused glance at his Wraith.   
  
"You pout very prettily, my Lady."   
  
Surprised laughter bubbled out of Wraith lips and she grinned.   
  
Voldemort opened the scroll and glanced at the ornate writing upon it, his snake-like eyes widening as he read. "Was this just delivered?" he asked.   
  
Wraith nodded, leaning forward again. She wrapped one hand around the back of his neck and she kissed the space just beneath his ear. "And how much will my Lord adore me if I get him those bloody goblins?" she asked him, whispering the words into his ear as she set her teeth lightly upon its edge.   
  
Voldemort threw the scroll aside to land upon the floor and he took firm hold of the woman in his lap. His teeth found her neck and the sensitive skin there, making Wraith gasp. How he loved to bring about those reactions in her: Every gasp, every cry that he pulled from her lips. "My dear Wraith," he murmured, pressing the line of their bodies together, "I've no doubt you'll bring the goblins to heel. The fact that they have requested your presence tonight is more than they have ever done before. I think that they have already made up their minds."   
  
"Don't be so sure, my Lord," Wraith countered, "The goblins have proven to be just as cunning as you in the past. You underestimate them, as usual."   
  
Voldemort sneered at the thought, but he let it go. He ran his hands down her back, his eyes drifting down and then back up. "You bring me the goblins, my Wraith—and I'll prove to you how much I 'adore' you."   
  
Wraith's smile was dark and sweet in reply, but then her eyes went to the fireplace. Voldemort followed her gaze, but saw nothing.   
  
"They're coming," Wraith insisted. She turned in his lap, facing the fireplace as he was, her legs curled over his and her hand pressed to his heart. Voldemort slipped his hand around her waist to hold her there.   
  
To Wraith's surprise and amusement, it was Rabastan's head that appeared in the fire. It was the first time he had been chosen to report. The man blinked at the sight of the Wraith curled like a cat in the Dark Lord's lap, but he quickly recovered. "My Lord. My Lady."   
  
"Rabastan," Voldemort said, "Have you anything new to tell me?" The impatience and irritation in the Dark Lord's voice was very clear and Rabastan winced visibly.   
  
"M-m Lord…I don't. We still have the trail and Ze'eva believes that we're closing in, but we've seen no sign of them yet."   
  
"Report back when you actually have something to report," Voldemort said sharply.   
  
Wraith smiled slowly and laid her head upon his shoulder, her eyes on the frightened face of the Death Eater. Rabastan saw her smile and for just a moment, his mask slipped and Wraith could clearly see the resentment he was burying deep within. It only amused her further.   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Rabastan managed to spit out the words as he turned nervous eyes back to Voldemort. There was a small  _pop_  and his head disappeared.   
  
"You know, I don't think that he particularly likes me anymore," Wraith commented with false sorrow.   
  
Voldemort gave her a sideways look. "What on earth are you talking about?" he asked.   
  
With a sharp grin, Wraith shrugged. "Recall that Rabastan was 'courting' me not long ago. And yet—I flirted with the werewolf and now I share your bed. His marriage ambitions have been put on an indefinite hold. To have potential power dangled in front of your face only to have it snatched away so quickly—Rabastan could very well be on his way to hating me."   
  
"Does it concern you?"   
  
"Not especially," Wraith admitted, "Only in that I'll change my way of dealing with him to suit his new attitude. It pays to be observant, after all." With that same sharp smile, Wraith kissed him briefly before slipping off of his lap. "I'll be leaving shortly for Gringotts," she told him, "I promise to bring back good news."   
  
"I expect no less."  
  
"You should also expect that if this is going to work, then we must give the goblins something in return," Wraith said flatly. "Do you trust my judgment in this?"  
  
"You have not steered me wrong so far," Voldemort replied slowly. "I leave the negotiations to you, but be sure not to give them too much."  
  
"I want your word that you will help me keep mine," Wraith told him, her voice firm, "Else this will be nothing but a waste of my time."  
  
"You have my word," Voldemort said, "Now bring those goblins to heel."  
  
"As my Lord commands," Wraith replied with a sardonic bow in his direction as she took her leave.   
  
  
  
  
Gringotts Bank was dark and almost foreboding when Wraith arrived at the grand building. For a moment, she paused in the foyer, lifting her eyes to take in the sight of the darkened room as she lowered the hood of her coat.   
  
Across the way, she saw a sliver of light appear as the door there opened a crack. Smiling just slightly, Wraith crossed to it. When she reached the door, it swung fully open to admit her. Wraith stepped into the small room beyond, slipping off her coat entirely as she accessed those present within. There were at least a dozen, including Garnott.   
  
The goblins there also seemed to be evaluating her as she did them. Her black hair was pulled back into a braid and then twisted into an efficient knot at the base of her skull. The dress she wore was as black as her hair, except for the hem trailing slightly on the floor. It glittered with gold, silver, and bronze as if it had been fused with coins from the vaults below. Around her neck hung a simple, slender gold chain that disappeared beneath the neckline of her dress.   
  
Looking at each goblin, Wraith bent respectfully to the group at large. "You requested to see me," she said as she straightened once more, "What can I do for you?"   
  
"There is no need for the courtesy, Executioner," one goblin snapped, his voice low and graveling, "Don't pretend to be something you are not."   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow at him. "And what am I not?" she asked.   
  
There was something in her tone that made the goblin hesitate to answer. In the silence that followed, Wraith turned her eyes to a familiar face. "Garnott," she said, nodding to him. He nodded in reply, but he did not speak.   
  
"You are not a witch," another goblin stated simply, his voice pitched a little higher than the rest. Wraith looked to him and inclined her head in reply. "Then what are you, Lady Death?" he demanded.   
  
Wraith smiled very slowly. "I see now why business between goblins and wizards has been so fraught with…complications," she said, tilting her head to one side, "Neither of you knows how to properly negotiate."   
  
The goblin that had spoken bristled, but it was Garnott who silenced him by raised a hand. Every eye was on Wraith now.   
  
"Negotiations should not begin with _interrogations_ ," Wraith told the goblin, her amusement clear, "They should begin with one—simple—question: What can we do for each other?" she asked, spreading her arms in an encompassing gesture, again looking at each goblin there.   
  
"Just what is it that you believe you can do for us?" the same goblin demanded.   
  
"What is your name?" Wraith asked, rather out of the blue.   
  
The goblin blinked and the answered, "Griphook."   
  
"Griphook—I can give you your bank back."   
  
The statement was sharp and clear and there was naught but silence in its wake. The goblins all looked to one another before they all seemed to turn to Garnott. He stood up, his eyes fixed upon Wraith as her eyes were upon his.   
  
"And what…do you want in return?"   
  
Wraith's pale eyes seemed to glow in the dimly lit room. "For now?" she said, recalling the same words she'd given Rafe, "Your silence. In time—?"   
  
Her voice trailed off as she saw the suspicion and interest seep into each eye upon her. She smiled—and knew that she had them.    
  
  
  
  
Voldemort heard the fast footsteps upon his tower stair just before the knock came swiftly against the door. "Enter."   
  
Wraith stepped inside, closing the door after her, her face alight with what could have been delight. "My Lord," she said.   
  
"Have you good news for me?" he asked her, already anticipating her answer.   
  
She nodded demurely as she crossed to his desk.   
  
Voldemort stood up from his chair and went around the desk to stand beside her. "Well?" he prompted.   
  
In reply, Wraith held up a scroll and offered it to him.   
  
The Dark Lord took the scroll and unfurled it. "So," he murmured, "The goblins are mine."   
  
"The goblins," Wraith said, taking the scroll from him, "are  _ours_ …or no one's at all." A quick flash of irritation crossed Voldemort's face, but Wraith held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "Now, let me be clear, my Lord, before you yell at me. The goblins of Gringotts have pledged to me, where they would have never pledged to another, simply on the fact that I am outside the usual order, being neither witch nor Muggle. But as I am yours," she told him, "as so are the goblins. You could say 'thank you', you know."   
  
There was a brief pause, with Voldemort's gaze boring into hers—and then he smiled, just slightly. "Clever girl," he said softly, "Thank you."   
  
"You're welcome," Wraith replied very dryly.   
  
Voldemort took the scroll back from her, glanced at it a second time, and then set it aside on the desk. "You gave them assurances that we would remove our control from the bank?" he asked incredulously.   
  
"I did," Wraith said flatly, "It was the only thing that they asked for. In return, we have their utmost cooperation, which is far more than you had previously. They want o run their own bloody bank, it's not an outrageous request."   
  
"Yet I do recall that I told you not to give them too much," Voldemort said sharply.   
  
"And yet, you still fail to see what they have allowed me to do," Wraith retorted. She pressed her hand to the scroll. "The goblins are now _magically bound_  to keep their promises to me. There is no going back for them. No further negotiations will ever be required on our parts. In signing this contract, they bind themselves to  _my_  will. Tell me—what more could you ask of me to grant you?"   
  
Voldemort was quiet, considering. He brushed her hand away from the scroll and reread it. "I underestimate you," he said.   
  
"It wouldn't be the first time," Wraith reminded him. "My Lord—"   
  
She stopped herself, but the Dark Lord's curiosity was peeked. Touching a hand beneath her chin, he lifted her face to see her eyes. There seemed to be a fire in them. He wondered what that flame would ignite if she kept it bottled inside herself.   
  
"Speak," he whispered.   
  
With a heated sigh, Wraith turned away from him, pacing the floor. "You are a natural leader—people flock to you because they can feel that. But now as ever, you fail to see the bigger picture. Fear and intimidation will only get you so far. They help to build an empire, but they cannot help you  _keep_  it. History tells us this—Hell,  _common sense_  tells us this. If you truly wish to keep the empire you've built—then you must, at least, give the  _appearance_  of generosity. You must give even those who would oppose you reason to doubt their own cause.  _That_ is what I can give you, what I  _have_  given you."   
  
"Merciful Death," Voldemort murmured, watching the fire burn into passion within her.   
  
"Exactly," Wraith said, turning to meet his gaze.   
  
"You," Voldemort said slowly, "are a remarkable creature. I do so often forget."   
  
Now, Wraith smiled, just slightly.   
  
"Come here," he told her.   
  
Wraith walked smoothly back to where he stood. With oddly gently hands, Voldemort reached around and undid the knot that held her hair up and then slowly began to unravel the braid. The action was strangely intimate and Wraith all but purred at the gentle and unexpected touch. When her hair was unbound, Voldemort curled his hands into it and pulled Wraith suddenly closer to him.   
  
"Now," he said, his mouth brushing lightly over hers, "I do believe that I've something to prove—don't I?"


	71. Stay

_"Do not bite at the bait of pleasure till you know there is no hook beneath it."_  
  
  
  
  
Later, as they lay side by side in his bed, it seemed that it was the Dark Lord's mind that would not stop whirling. Wraith lay with her back to him, half-asleep and too comfortable to fight it. Then she felt his hand gently stroke her back and she turned her head slightly to let him know she was still awake.   
  
"You are right," he told her, his own voice slightly blurred as if he too were fighting sleep, "I was born to lead, to rule, and I have always relied on fear and cunning alike. That was m coin. But you, my Wraith," he said, moving closer to wrap his arm over her, "are the other side of that very same coin, with your mercy, your compassion. And where it would be a weakness in me, it is a strength in you. I will make use of that."   
  
Wraith turned so that they lay face to face. "Good," she said, brushing her hand lightly down his cheek.   
  
She started to move away again, but to her shock, Voldemort held her in place. "Not yet," he murmured.   
  
Surprised further still, Wraith rested her head at the crook of his neck and let him hold her. He had never just—held her before. The most he had ever done was lay a hand on her shoulder or her back if he wanted her to stay a little longer. Wraith could acknowledge this new closeness as a victory, assign that she was weakening him—But at the very same time, it was disconcerting, for she knew it would feed her own need for him.   
  
 _This is the double-edged blade I told Severus about. I must be careful—but how much more careful can I be?_  
  
She sighed, touching her hand to his cheek again. "Best not fall asleep on me," she murmured, "I wanted a bath before bed." She heard a short dry laugh and then felt him release her.   
  
"Go on then," he muttered to her.   
  
Wraith smirked, enjoying the fact that she could so exhaust him. As she climbed out of bed and reached for her dress, she briefly considered asking him if he wanted her to return after her bath—But she quickly decided against it. She didn't want to give him a chance to think about it. It was best when it just happened.   
  
Dressed again, Wraith leaned over, brushing her lips against his, but Voldemort was already more than half-asleep. Smiling still, Wraith slipped silently from his room.   
  
It was only when she was laying comfortably in her bath that she allowed her own mind to run rampant. She wished, desperately in fact, that she had someone to talk to about this aspect of her plot. She couldn't speak with Snape, the merest mention of her relationship with Voldemort made him go red in the face and sputter. She did not trust Dumbledore enough to truly confide in him—and the same went for Narcissa Malfoy.   
  
Not for the first time, Wraith felt a terrible sort of loneliness. The dark feeling almost swallowed her, but she bit down on it swiftly, and tried to turn her thoughts elsewhere. Things were going well, after all, and there was no need to wallow in a depression. She had the wolves on her side, and now she had the goblins as well.   
  
It had taken a great deal of cunning and conniving to convince the goblins to join her. She had made promises to them to get it, and though she fully intended to keep those promises, some of them would be difficult.   
  
 _"We are no one's pawns," Griphook had told her firmly.  
  
"I'm not asking for pawns," she had replied, "I am asking for allies."   
  
"You would give us our bank in return for silence," Garnott had said. "What will you give us in return for our assistance when the time comes?"   
  
"What do you want? If it is within my reach, I will help you."   
  
"Wands," Griphook had replied flatly, "The wizards have long denied us the chance to increase our power with wandlore. Can you give us that?"   
  
It had taken a long time for Wraith to reply to that question. "Is there a time limit?" she asked, "For the true question is; can I find you a wandmaker who would be willing to work with you?"   
  
"Time is not important," Garnott told her, "As long as the promise is kept."   
  
"I keep my promises," Wraith had assured him, "I'll swear it by my blood. There will need to be a touch more negotiation when the wandmaker is found, you realize?"   
  
"Find us a wandmaker," Garnott had said, "and we will make our deals with him."   
  
"Very well," Wraith had said, "Do we have a deal, then?" _  
  
The goblins had agreed to their accord and signed the contract in blood, as did Wraith, magically binding both parties. It was as she had told the Dark Lord: As she was his, so too were the goblins—But when the moment came that she was no longer his, the goblins would be free of him as well.   
  
It was a tricky game to play, but it had played out well so far. Wraith had little trust in the goblins in truth, but it hardly mattered since she had bound them into silence. They couldn't betray her if they wanted too, though she doubted that they would think to do so just yet. They stood to gain too much with her to turn on her. But she had no doubt that if they saw a better opportunity they would take it, even if it meant breaking their promises to her.   
  
She didn't blame them in the slightest—after all, wasn't that precisely was she was doing with Voldemort? Aiding and abetting him so that she could find the opportunity to free herself of him? They wanted their freedom, and a hint of revenge mixed into that want.   
  
Who was she to deny it of them when it was exactly what she wanted too?          
  
  
  
  
A couple of days later, Wraith returned to the Dark Lord's tower at his call. Ascending the tower steps, she felt the slightest trepidation. Voldemort had all but disappeared the day before and in fact she had not seen him since she had left him sleeping.   
  
Half-formed thoughts and fears battered their way into her mind; had he found out about Grindelwald returning to the Manor?—Had the goblins found a way to betray her—Had Rafe? But the time for thinking such things had passed.   
  
At his door, Wraith took a quick breath to steady herself. She lifted a hand and knocked once.   
  
"Come."   
  
He was sitting behind his desk when she entered, a book in his hands. Wraith's eyes narrowed when he did not look up as she reached the desk.   
  
"…I missed you yesterday," she told him.   
  
At that, Voldemort  _did_  look up, for though the words were…sentimental, the tone was venomous. "I had business elsewhere. Have you become so attached, my pet?"   
  
Wraith did not reply. Her expression was answer enough.   
  
Amused by her venom, Voldemort closed the book in his hand and set it on the desk. To Wraith's astonishment, he then pushed the book towards her. "Call it a gift, considering the day."   
  
Curious now, Wraith took the book up and looked at the cover. " _Reaching Behind The Mind's Walls_ ," she read aloud. Raising an eyebrow, she turned her eyes back to the Dark Lord's, "A book on Legilimency?"   
  
"I recall that you were making a study of magical theory," Voldemort said, "Your delving into the Weasleys' minds took far too much power from you. I had hopes that something in this book would help with that."   
  
Wraith ran her hand over the smooth cover of the book, smiling. "This…could come in handy," she admitted. She was unsure of what to say as she was still surprised by his actions. "…Thank you," she told him.   
  
The Dark Lord smirked at the suspicion in her words. "You're welcome," he replied.   
  
Wraith gave him the slightest sneer before she turned slightly to lean her hip against the desk. She opened the book and glancing through the first few pages. "What did you mean?" she asked, "' _considering the day_ '?"   
  
"…It's  _Christmas_ , pet," was his dry response.   
  
Wraith blinked rapidly. "Oh," she murmured.   
  
"Something wrong, my Wraith?"   
  
"No," she told him, glancing over, "I just…can't believe how the days have gotten away from me."   
  
Memories were sharp and clear and disconcerting; waking with Edwin on Christmas morning, playing the piano for him before they had ventured out into the woods to play in the snow…It had been such a beautiful day.   
  
Ruthlessly, Wraith shoved the memories away where they could not touch her. "Hmph," she scoffed, snapping the book shut. She gave Voldemort a wry smirk as she set the book down and walked around the desk to where he sat. "You know," she said, leaning down, "I do believe that that is the first gift you've given me that didn't  _glitter_."   
  
"Do you prefer the glitter?' Voldemort asked with a sneer.   
  
"I like the glitter," Wraith told him, "But I like the book more." She touched a hand to the collar of his robes. "Shall I…express my gratitude?" she asked him, arching one slim brow.    
  
  
  
  
It was nearly dawn when Wraith slipped away from the Dark Lord again. Unable to sleep, she sat on the front steps of the Manor and watched the sky begin to lighten. In her hand was the ring that she had kept hidden from Voldemort. Over and over, she twisted the ring in her hand, her fingers tracing the words etched into it. Some sad and distant feeling inside of her called for tears, but she did not allow herself to cry.   
  
She missed Edwin with a deep and hollowing ache and though she had been able to comfort herself from time to time in the privacy of her tower, that ache had snuck up on her in Voldemort's very presence that night. If she had not been able to get control of herself earlier, she could have completely given herself away.   
  
But what did it say about her that she had been able to simply push those feelings aside like that? Was she so cold that even memories of true love had no hold on her?   
  
Wraith stifled a gasp when she heard the front doors opening behind her. "My Lady?" came a soft and worried whisper.   
  
Wraith glanced over her shoulder to see Harper. She smiled softly, "Good morning, Antony," she said gently, "Do you want to sit with me?"   
  
"Of course I do," Harper replied glibly. He slipped out of the Manor and closed the doors as quietly as he could. He settled onto the stone steps beside her with a sigh. "So…it's four in the morning," he said quite conversationally.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said lightly, "Yes, it is."   
  
"May I ask why my Lady is still awake at four in the morning?"   
  
"I couldn't sleep," Wraith replied simply.   
  
"Are you okay?" Harper asked.   
  
"I'm…tired," Wraith told him, surprising herself with the truth, "It's been a very…busy few weeks."   
  
"So I've noticed," Harper agreed, nodding. "Is everything okay with…you know?" he asked, nudging her shoulder with his.   
  
Wraith laughed under her breath. "Well, I'm sure that has something to do with my exhaustion," she said wryly. She tilted her head, looking at him. "What are you doing up at four in the morning?"   
  
Harper shrugged, "Eh, I got used to being up all night at Hogsmeade, working patrols and such. Haven't completely broken the habit." He smiled brightly at her and then his eyes fell to her hand. "What've you got there?" he asked.   
  
Wraith stiffened, her hand clenching around the ring in her palm. Then she breathed, making a sudden choice. Smiling rather sadly, she turned to face Harper, holding up her closed hand. "Can you keep a secret?" she asked in a playful whisper, though Harper did not miss the trace of tears in her eyes.   
  
"I'll take it to my grave," he whispered back, leaning in and returning her smile.   
  
Wraith opened her hand, revealing the ring.   
  
Harper blinked at the simple golden band. "Oh!" he said, "May I?"   
  
Wraith nodded and Harper gently took it from her palm to take a closer look. It was then that he noticed the writing etched inside the band. "What is that?" he murmured, to himself more than to her, " _Omnia Vincit Amor_ …what does that mean?" he asked.  
  
"'Love conquers all'."   
  
Harper's eyes snapped to her face. In her eyes joy and sorrow seemed to battle with one another, with neither gaining any ground.   
  
Very gently, he took her hand and placed the ring into it, closing her fingers around it. He smiled and held her hand just a moment longer. There was a terrible understanding in his eyes. Wraith saw it…and wondered. "I won't ask," he told her, his voice sweet, "I know it's probably safer that I don't. But thank you…for sharing this."   
  
"It's hard to keep it to yourself," Wraith admitted, her voice breaking slightly.   
  
"Yeah," Harper agreed, his own voice trembling on the single word.   
  
He hesitated—but then he put an arm around Wraith's shoulders, drawing her into a loose, but comforting embrace. Wraith rested her head on his shoulder and let out a shuddering breath. When she pulled back, there were still tears threatening to fall, but her smile was more sincere.    
  
  
  
  
Wraith spent the next few days brutally plotting. Christmas had been extraordinarily difficult for her and she could not let her memories of Edwin continue to affect her this way. She couldn't afford it—not if she wanted to be able to see him again someday.   
  
While she didn't necessarily avoid the Dark Lord in those few days after Christmas, she did not seek him out as she had before. She left it to him to initiate anything between them and she saw quite clearly that he wondered why. She let him wonder, let him suspect that something was wrong.   
  
She spent a great deal of time with Harper during the daylight hours, sitting together with him with a book between them, walking in the woods around the Manor, and such. It drove Voldemort to distraction just as Wraith had speculated that it would.   
  
Harper was no fool, he realized earlier on that Wraith was using his very presence to irk the Dark Lord, but he seemed happy enough to play along. "Are you going to tell me what you're up to?" he asked on the afternoon of the third day.   
  
"Nothing all that important," Wraith replied under her breath, but she wore a cheshire grin, "But thank you for your help."   
  
"Is there anything else I can do?" Harper asked.   
  
Wraith started to shake her head, but then she hesitated. "…Maybe," she admitted and to Harper's surprise she looked a little…embarrassed, "…Come to my tower, New Year's Eve. I'll need a little…help with something."   
  
"As my Lady commands," Harper said lightly.   
  
  
  
  
New Year's Eve arrived.   
  
During the day, the Death Eaters who had not joined in the hunt for the traitors gathered and Wraith was interested to see that they were preparing bonfires around the Manor. It seemed they were looking to celebrate the New Year fully. That suited her just fine. It might provide just one more distraction for the Dark Lord.   
  
As the sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the snow-covered grounds, the Death Eaters began to light the bonfires, adding to the glow. Voldemort did not join his followers in their revelry, but he did step outside for a moment just to see—and to make sure that they hadn't built any fires too close to the Manor.   
  
As night truly fell, he saw Harper emerge from the Manor's side door to join his fellow Death Eaters. He waited a beat more, expecting his Wraith to follow.   
  
But she did not.   
  
Voldemort frowned, both irritated that he'd been wrong and curious as to where she was. He closed his eyes, reaching along the link between them—only to find that she had blocked it. Scowling now, Voldemort descended the front steps and made his way directly to Harper. He grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him away from the rest.   
  
"Where is my Wraith?" he demanded.   
  
Harper didn't dare blink. "I-I think she's in her tower," he said quietly, "It's where I last saw her…though that was a while ago."   
  
"Did she say anything about leaving the Manor tonight?"   
  
"Not to me," Harper said, shaking his head.   
  
Voldemort released the boy and Harper let out a breath of relief as the Dark Lord stormed back up to the Manor. The moment that Voldemort disappeared into the building, a wicked grin came to Harper's face.   
  
"My Lady, he's either going to love you or kill you," he muttered. With a shake of his head, Harper grabbed a bottle of beer and rejoined the commencing party.   
  
Voldemort went up to his Wraith's tower, but it only fueled his annoyance, for she was not there. Or if she was, she was not answering her door. The Dark Lord scowled deeply, thinking that she had done something like this in the past—but she'd been angry with him for something. What on earth could she be irked about now?   
  
As he climbed the steps of his own tower, he suddenly felt annoyed with  _himself_  as well as her. After all, why should he care what that blasted girl was doing? It was of no concern to him. Perhaps she had gone to Hogwarts to see Severus. Yes, that was the most likely answer. She'd return before long if that was the case. Voldemort pushed open his door and stepped inside his tower—and then he froze.   
  
The fire was banked low, giving the room an orange/red glow similar to the fires outside. Though the room was rather dark, the air was charged. On his desk sat a bottle of wine and two goblets—and in his chair sat his Wraith. She smirked at him, her eyes glittering in the dim light.   
  
"Took you long enough," she said around that sharp smirk.   
  
Voldemort slowly closed the door behind him as he studied her. Wraith wore a thin silken black robe, yet there was a trace of make-up on her face and her long hair was done up in a seemingly complicated knot, held together by two ivory hair-sticks.   
  
"What are you up to, my Wraith?" Voldemort asked when he reached the desk.   
  
Wraith slipped out of the chair and moved to lean her hip against the desk. "I thought," she said as she poured wine into both goblets, "that with the others celebrating the New Year outside, I'd offer an alternative celebration." She offered him the wine, arching a brow when he hesitated in taking it.   
  
"Did you, now?" Voldemort murmured, his eyes sweeping over her again. He tilted his head to one side and reached out a hand to brush down her side. But when he reached to untie the robe, Wraith did a graceful side-step out of his reach. She flashed him a teasing smile and he smirked in reply, settling himself into his chair. He sipped at the wine, surprised by the excellent vintage his Wraith had managed to find.   
  
Seeing a trace of it on his face, Wraith smiled. "Did you know that Harper's father was a bit of a wine buff? Harper helped me find this bottle."  
  
"Ah," Voldemort said, beginning to see what his Wraith had been up to the last few days.   
  
From down below, they heard the faint strains of music. Wraith wandered towards the window and opened it a crack, letting the music in. She stood there for a moment, swaying slightly to the beating of it. Voldemort's eyes were sharp upon her and when Wraith glanced back at him, she gave him a wicked sort of grin.   
  
Moving slowly, with a serpentine twist to her hips, she moved out onto the open floor of the room, continuing to dance to the music. She enjoyed the feel of his eyes still upon her and for just a little while she lost herself in the rhythm. Voldemort sat back in his chair, drinking his wine as he watched her. There was a grace to her that held his eyes.   
  
Eventually, Wraith's dance came to an end along with the music. Standing before the desk, Wraith was pleased to see that Voldemort had already finished one goblet of wine and had poured himself a second. She bit her lower lip as their eyes met.   
  
 _Very_  slowly, she reached up and began to untie her robe. "I thought," she said in a whisper, keeping her eyes on his, "that I'd try something a little different tonight."   
  
Wraith opened the robe and slipped it off, letting it fall to the floor. A warm shiver went through her at the look in Voldemort's eyes when he saw what the robe had been hiding.   
  
Wraith wore a corset made from a soft ivory color trimmed with dark gold. The corset ended just at her waist, leaving a small line of skin visible above panties that matched it. It somehow added just a touch more curve to her slim figure and the pale colors made her raven-black hair all the more striking. Around her neck she wore the locket. There was an almost feverous light in Voldemort's eyes.   
  
Wraith smiled wickedly. "Does my Lord approve?" she asked, folding her arms behind her back.   
  
Voldemort stood up, setting his goblet on the desk before he walked around it. Standing before her, his smile matched her own. In a sudden movement, his hands went around her waist and he lifted her up, setting her upon the edge of the desk.   
  
"Your Lord," he whispered, his voice rough, "does indeed."   
  
With one hand slipped around the back of her neck, he tilted her head back and assaulted her mouth with his, using tongue and teeth to express just how much he 'approved'.   
  
When he turned his attentions to her pale neck, Wraith couldn't help but laugh with sheer breathy glee. "Oh," she breathed, "why didn't I think of this before?"   
  
Voldemort's only reply was the push her back upon the desk, letting his hands drift down the smooth fabric of the corset. Wraith allowed him hands to wander and get their fill, but then she pushed herself back up, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. She took his mouth with hers, tracing her nails lightly down his neck to make him shiver.   
  
When he started to pull back, she let him. She was delighted at how he seemed to be struggling to breathe normally. She slipped off of the desk and sauntered to the secret door that led up to his room.   
  
Opening the door, she looked over her shoulder, her smile laced with dark humor. "I've just remembered something you once told me," she said, "when we once spoke of each other. You told me that I was born in August and I asked when you were born."   
  
"And I told you," Voldemort said, falling into her game willingly enough, "that I was born on New Year's Eve."   
  
Wraith turned and started up the steps backwards, keeping her eyes on him, "And what did you say when I commented that you had fetched me from Azkaban on New Year's Day?"   
  
"That I considered you to be a gift to myself," Voldemort replied as he started to follow her.   
  
Wraith grinned and laughed, crooking a finger at him, "The gift that keeps on giving."   
  
Voldemort smiled darkly, greatly amused as he all but chased her up the stairs.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith lay beside Voldemort in his bed, hours later, nude but for the locket around her neck. She turned on her side and watched him drift deeper into sleep. Still smirking, she sat up and made to leave.   
  
But his hand suddenly shot out, grabbing her wrist. Surprised, for she had been so sure he'd been sleeping, Wraith turned back to look at him.  
  
"Where do you think you are going?" he asked, one eye opened just slightly.   
  
Wraith smirked again. "Well, I  _was_  going to go to bed," she told him.   
  
"You are in bed," Voldemort muttered, tugging on her arm, "Stay."   
  
A thousand different conflicting thoughts and emotions passed through Wraith's mind in a single instant. Letting no trace of her hesitation show on her face, she smiled softly and lay back down on her side, keeping her back to him. "If you insist," she murmured.   
  
Voldemort turned, slipping an arm around her and pulling her back against him. He buried his face into her dark hair and fell asleep.   
  
It took Wraith far longer to follow.


	72. Hell On Heels

_"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself."_  
  
  
  
  
Over the following couple of weeks, Wraith spent more nights in the Dark Lord's bed than she did her own. She fell into the habit more easily than she would have liked, but it was yet another step closer to the Dark Lord.   
  
Yet, despite the fact that they shared a bed, he still kept a slight distance between them, especially when in the presence of others. That was well and good as far as Wraith was concerned. Besides, she found it more fun to let everyone wonder what was going on behind closed doors.   
  
Wraith had to wonder about his past sometimes though. She had heard nothing, not even the trace of a rumor, concerning a past lover of the Dark Lord's. There wasn't even a whisper of one, at least no one during his rise to power. So, Wraith was left with her own instincts to find what would  _keep_  him enthralled with her.   
  
Harper made an interesting coconspirator, to her utter surprise. Wraith had to think that it was a pity that he hadn't gotten more time with Janesch a couple of years ago. She had the feeling that the two would have gotten along very well. Harper seemed to share the vampire's wicked sense of humor, though he was far from as outrageous as Janesch.   
  
"You know," Harper said early one evening, "A lady of your stature really ought to have a…oh, what is the term? A lady-in-waiting," he said after a moment's thought.   
  
Wraith couldn't help but laugh. "What makes you say that?" she asked, grinning at him.   
  
Harper stuck his tongue out at her and then applied a rather dignified face. "I merely thought that my Lady would benefit from having another woman around."   
  
"Go on," Wraith prompted, still holding back laughter.   
  
Harper pushed himself up from the couch they were sitting on and paced nonchalantly around to the vanity table. "Oh, you know," he said, "someone who can actually help you with things like hair and make-up and such—" Wraith let out a playful shriek when he smacked her lightly on the back of the head with her hairbrush. "—Instead of just me stumbling through such things along with you," he said. He was pleased when he saw the pensive look in her eyes as she considered it.   
  
"You did alright New Year's Eve," she pointed out.   
  
"Yeah, but it took hours to make it stay in place," Harper retorted, "Your hair is bloody difficult—no offense, my Lady."   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes. "I don't know why we bothered," she muttered.   
  
"Let me guess," Harper said drawlingly, "Our Lord had it undone within five minutes."   
  
"Two," Wraith replied with a smirk.   
  
"See, that's another reason to get a little more help," Harper said, "Seduction techniques."   
  
That was too much for Wraith. Laughter bubbled out and it was a few moments before she gained control of herself again. It made her feel better when Harper joined her. Despite her laughter, Wraith had to admit that he had a point.   
  
A sudden idea made Wraith smile slowly. Seeing the look, Harper raised a brow and waited.   
  
"You're right," she said lightly, "and I think I know just the woman."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith Apparated a fair distance from the pub, wanting the quiet walk beforehand. Remembering the last time she'd actually gone into  _La Magia_ , she had abandoned her usual dress and opted for black trousers. Matched with them, she wore a black shirt and pale gray vest, along with her long coat.   
  
She had also spared a touch of magic to change her unusual eyes to a normal dark brown. She did not change her appearance beyond that—she did need Clara to recognize her, after all.   
  
It was not long before the light and music pouring out of the pub reached her and she couldn't help but smile. Steeling herself, she tilted her chin up and approached the front porch where Kale stood guard.   
  
The large man smiled easily at her, nodding his head. "Evening, ma'am," he greeted.   
  
"Evening," she replied with a smile of her own as she passed him the Muggle money.   
  
"You look familiar," Kale said, frowning slightly, "You been here before?"   
  
"It's been a long while," Wraith said, "I actually have business here tonight. I need to speak with Ms. Roz."   
  
Kale's eyebrows shot up, but then he shrugged. "Shouldn't be a problem. Just pass the word to the bartender; he'll know where the boss is."   
  
"Thank you," Wraith said sincerely.   
  
Kale gestured for her to enter and she stepped into the noise and warmth of the pub. She did as Kale had instructed and approached the bar. The bartender was a thin man of middling years, his deer-hide hair just beginning to go gray. Wraith liked his warm smile and smiled in return when he turned it to her. "Welcome, pretty child," he said, his voice heavy with a cockney accent, "What can I get you?"   
  
"Surprise me," Wraith told him, leaning her arms on the bar.   
  
The bartender clucked his tongue and reached beneath the bar for a slim bottle. "Know just the thing for a classy looking girl like you," he said with a wink. He took a wine glass down and poured a pale sparkling liquid from the bottle.   
  
Wraith took the glass when he offered and she had a small sip. Surprise and delight flashed over her face and the bartender grinned. "What is it?" she had to ask.   
  
"Shiraz wine," he replied, "It's a sparkling wine."   
  
"Hm," Wraith murmured, taking another sip, "Thank you."   
  
"Is there anything else I can get for you?"   
  
"Actually…yes," Wraith said, setting the glass down, "I'm here to see Ms. Roz. Kale told me to talk to you."   
  
"Ah, I see," the bartender said with a nod, "Alright then, see that table over yonder?" he said, gesturing to a small table set in the corner, set slightly apart from the rest, "You have a seat there and I'll fetch Ms. Roz for you."   
  
Wraith looked over at the table and studied those seated nearest to it. Judging it to be safe, she nodded, "Okay. Thank you, again," she added.   
  
The bartender smiled crookedly. "Not a problem, pretty child. Name's Hammond, by the by."   
  
"I'll remember it," she promised. With one last smile, she turned and made her way through the crowd to the table that Hammond had pointed to. She sat down, slipping her coat off and letting it lay across the back of the chair. She then turned her attention to the stage as she drank her wine.   
  
It was not long though before she felt someone gentle touch her shoulder. She turned her head just slightly to see the lovely and dark woman standing beside her. "You'd be Ms. Roz?" Wraith asked her.   
  
"That I would," the woman replied, moving to sit across from her. Ms. Roz's black eyes swept over Wraith's face and the girl felt as if she were being measured. That was fine with her; she was studying the woman with the same care.   
  
"Hm," Ms. Roz murmured, tilting her head to one side. She leaned forward, reaching out to touch her hand lightly beneath Wraith's chin. Wraith stiffened slightly, but she did not pull away. "Pretty eyes," Ms. Roz commented, sitting back again, "and a subtle disguise as well. But the color doesn't really suit you— _little ghost_."   
  
Wraith's masked eyes went very wide and she quickly gulped down her wine. "I should have guessed," she said dryly, after a moment's collection, "when he first brought me here. You know Janesch."   
  
Ms. Roz grinned at her, a wicked gleam to it. "He's been a friend of the family since before I was born," she admitted, "He's the one who convinced me to open  _La Magia_."   
  
"And Janesch told you about me?" Wraith asked slowly.   
  
Ms. Roz laughed. "Now, don't you worry about our bloodsucking friend. He didn't go spilling any secrets. He made it known that you were a friend and were to be treated as such. Janesch has rules—any friend of his is a friend of ours."   
  
"That does sound like Janesch," Wraith muttered.   
  
"When you've lived as long as him, you can create quite a network of folk, scattered here and there. It's Janesch's friendship that helps protect this pub from the war," Ms. Roz told her. "I must say, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Caught a glimpse of you the first time Janesch brought you here. You've grown since. You were akin to a babe lost in the woods then. But you're certainly no baby now, are you?"   
  
"No," Wraith replied simply.   
  
"So, why did you need to speak to me?" Ms. Roz asked, "I'd assumed at first that Janesch had told you he knew me—but I see now that isn't the case."   
  
Wraith tapped an idle finger on the table's smooth surface. "I'm here to steal one of your girls."   
  
" _Ah_ ," Ms. Roz said, "So, it truly is business that brought you here. I don't suppose I have to guess which girl either," she added with a veiled glance towards the little stage. Clara had just joined the band there, her face alight with her cheshire grin. "She's Hell on heels, that one."   
  
"Precisely why I want her."    
  
"You'll not bring her into danger, will you?" Ms. Roz asked then, her sultry voice suddenly quite firm, "I've no objections beyond that."  
  
"She'll be protected," Wraith said, "No one will lay a hand on her—I'll make sure of it. But I need her help. I need a friend," she broke down enough to admit, "I've too much to carry alone. Clara, I trust."   
  
"You're a hell of a judge of character, basing such trust on meeting the girl twice and then not seeing her for two years," Ms. Roz said, arching a brow.   
  
There was something unsaid in the woman's words and Wraith suddenly felt unsteady. "It's…not only based on my own opinion," she replied evenly.   
  
"That's what I figured," Ms. Roz said with a slight nod, "He was here, you know, a couple of weeks ago. He and little Aly."   
  
Wraith closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. "I see that Janesch isn't the only one with a big mouth," she murmured.   
  
Though the girl's eyes were still closed, Ms. Roz did not miss the flash of pain that had passed over her face. She reached out and gently touched Wraith's hand. "He's alright," she said, "He's quite safe. I've made sure of it."   
  
Wraith opened her eyes and Ms. Roz pulled her hand back.   
  
"You helped him…after that safe-house fell?" Wraith whispered, her eyes bright, "And the others?"   
  
Ms. Roz pressed her lips together in a firm line and she did not reply. But then, that was an answer in itself.   
  
"…Good," Wraith said simply, "I was running out of excuses. But a  _brand new_  safe-house? Well, how should I know where that is? None of our current prisoners would know a thing about it, so  _he_  has no reason to send me hunting it."   
  
Ms. Roz was staring at her. Wraith waited, that sharp little half-smile twisting her lips.   
  
Finally, Ms. Roz leaned forward slightly. "…I'd wondered," the woman said with a smirk of her own, "when your Edwin first came here after he'd met you. Do you support the Order then?"   
  
"When it suits me," Wraith replied with curt truthfulness.   
  
"Then you've your  _own_  agenda," Ms. Roz said slowly, "That's very interesting. You're even more like Janesch than I thought. Is it this agenda that you need our Clara's help with?"   
  
"It is," Wraith said with a nod.   
  
" _Well_ ," Ms. Roz murmured, her dark eyes narrowed, but bright with delight, "In that case, let's get this ball rolling." She turned in her chair and lifted an arm, signaling to the stage.   
  
A minute later, when the song ended, Clara jumped down from the stage and moved through the crowd to the table, her face written with stark curiosity. "Hey, Ms. Roz," she said as she got closer, "What's—?"   
  
Clara stopped suddenly when she saw who her boss was sitting with. Shock passed over her face and then a slow and delighted grin surfaced.   
  
"Oh…my…god," she said with a laugh. She hooked a chair and plopped herself down into it, leaning forward to rest her arms on the table. "I never thought I'd see you again," she said to Wraith, still smiling wildly.   
  
"Hello, Clara-dove," Wraith said, unable to fight the smile that answered Clara's.   
  
"You little  _minx_ ," Clara said, scrunching up her nose to make a face, "You've been busy, haven't you? Trading kissed with me  _and_  my best friend?"   
  
"Well, I did trade more than a few  _kisses_  with your best friend," Wraith replied pertly.   
  
"Don't I know it," Clara said, "So, what's brought you back here?"   
  
Wraith traded a quick glance with Ms. Roz. "Actually," she said, looking back to Clara, "I've come to offer you a job."   
  
  
  
  
It was not long after Wraith returned to the Manor that she felt the Mark burn lightly upon her arm, telling her that the Dark Lord wished to speak with her. She'd expected it, knowing the wagging tongues that occupied the Manor house. Sensing no urgency in Voldemort's call, she took her time making her way to his tower. She knocked softly on his door and then stepped inside.   
  
Voldemort was standing at one of the surrounding bookshelves and he did not look in her direction at first. "I've been informed that you returned with a 'guest' in tow," he said, his tone slightly sharp, "Care to elaborate on that, pet?"   
  
"Certainly," Wraith replied smartly, "I wanted something—and I got it."   
  
Voldemort finally turned, only to glare at her. "Elaborate  _further_."   
  
Wraith smirked at him as she crossed over to the desk. Leaning back against it, she tilted her head to the side. "I wanted a servant of my own," she told him, "one that you can't…take from me to do other things."   
  
"I see," Voldemort said slowly, "I've no issue with that. Truth be told, it's only right for one of your power."   
  
"My thoughts exactly," Wraith agreed.   
  
"And who is it that you've brought home?" Voldemort asked her then.   
  
Wraith's smirk went sharp. "Clara Bauman."   
  
Slowly, Voldemort tilted his head to match hers as he looked to her. "…You had best be joking,  _pet_."   
  
Wraith chuckled under her breath and simply continued to smile. "Not a chance, my Lord," she told him gleefully.   
  
Voldemort took a breath and wished for patience. "Wraith," he said firmly, "why do you insist on doing things like this? This has the same taste as your stunts with the vampire."   
  
"It does, doesn't it?" Wraith said thoughtfully, "Do you really want the answer to that question? It's one you've heard before."   
  
"Oh?"   
  
"Why do I do these things? Because I  _can_ ," Wraith said, "and—truth be told—because it's fun," she added. "Come on now," she said, reaching up to touch his chest, "Do you  _really_  have issue with a half-blood serving a pure-blood? Clara will behave herself—as long as I tell her to. She's surprisingly obedient."   
  
Voldemort touched the hand upon his chest and gripped it tightly, holding her in place. "You're playing games again, my Wraith."   
  
"I like games, remember?" Wraith said. She slipped her free hand around the back of his neck, trapping him as well as he had her. "Relax, this isn't a game on  _you_. It's for your Death Eaters. They're getting complacent. I brought Clara so I could…shake things up a bit. It'll be fun to watch," she insisted. When Voldemort said nothing, Wraith dropped her hand and pulled her other hand out of his grasp. "I'm keeping her either way," she told him.   
  
Still, the Dark Lord was silent. Wraith's eyes narrowed and she strode past him, heading for the door. She was unsurprised when he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.   
  
"Keep her then," he told her, "I suppose it's no real concern of mine, as long as she does not get in the way. And if it makes you happy…"   
  
Wraith smirked up at him, having heard the irony in his voice at that last. "Thank you," she said.   
  
Voldemort smirked in reply and released her arm, turning away and giving her silent permission to leave. But—   
  
"…It occurs to me that I really ought to have a pair," Wraith said.   
  
Voldemort sighed and looked back to her. "If you want to go and fetch another servant, you have my permission—not that you apparently need it."   
  
"I want Harper."   
  
There was a moment's pause.   
  
"You want to take one of my Death Eaters for your own?" he asked her.  
  
"He's already more mine than yours," Wraith reminded him, "and he'd be of more use to me in any case. Would it really be such a loss for you?"   
  
"Take him then," Voldemort said with another sigh.   
  
"My Lord?"   
  
"What now?" he snapped.   
  
"Thank you."   
  
Voldemort glanced over at her and the little smile she was wearing.   
  
"I'm going to go get Clara settled," she said when their eyes met, "and then I'd like to come back…if it suits you."   
  
Voldemort smiled slowly, recalling the last time his Wraith had 'expressed her gratitude'. "It suits me," he replied, "Be quick."   
  
Wraith flashed him one last grin before she slipped through the door and was gone.    
  
  
  
  
Clara nearly jumped out of her skin when the door opened to admit Wraith. "Well?" she asked quickly, "Is everything okay? Is he angry?"   
  
"He's a little annoyed with me," Wraith replied lightly, "But everything's fine. Clara," she added, looking closely at her, "calm down. You're perfectly safe."   
  
Clara threw herself back on the couch, looking faintly ill.   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes and crossed to the table beside her bed. She pulled open the little drawer there. Reaching inside, she took up something small in her hand and crossed back to the couch. She sat beside Clara and smiled. "I have a present for you," she said, "I had the idea to fetch you a few days ago," she explained, "The only reason it took me those few days to get you is because I knew that you would need my protection. Clare, you saw Edwin after the safe-house fell—did he tell you about the locket I gave him?"   
  
Clara's eyes widened and she slowly smiled. "He did," she replied, "Wraith—my Lady—did you make me one too?"   
  
"I made something else, but it'll do the same thing." Wraith opened her hand to reveal a thin sheet of red-gold shaped into a bracelet. Clara smiled and held up her hand so that Wraith could slip it over her wrist. Once there, the band shrunk until it was wrapped tightly against the girl's skin. "Don't ever take this off," Wraith told her, "even when you think you're safe up here."   
  
"Oh, believe me, I won't," Clara replied, running her hand over the smooth metal. "Wraith," she said, reaching out to touch her hand, "You saved his life with that locket. He's…he's been my best friend for years. I don't know how to thank you for that."   
  
"You don't have to," Wraith said softly, "I did it for myself. I've an interest in keeping him alive, after all."   
  
Clara smirked. "I still can't believe it…Edwin, my oldest friend, turns out to be your love."  
  
"It's a small world we live in," Wraith agreed, "I'm still wrapping my head around the fact that you ended up in a pub that _my_  old friend helped to open and still protects. Circles within circles," she murmured, shaking her head.  
  
"I guess some people you're just meant to know," Clara said.   
  
Wraith smiled back at her and then her eyes snapped to the door at someone's soft knock. "Ah," she said, standing, "about time." She opened the door to see Harper standing there.   
  
"I heard you had a guest," the boy said, glancing passed Wraith to see Clara. He grinned and waved at her. Clara waved back, smiling too.   
  
"Antony, this is Clara Bauman," Wraith said, "Clara, this is Antony Harper."   
  
"I think I remember you," Clara said from the couch, "You were a couple of years behind me in Slytherin, right?"  
  
"Yeah," Harper said with a grin.   
  
Wraith reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his robes, pulling him into the room. "I've good news," she told him and she was the only one not smiling. She closed the door swiftly and pressed her hand to it, letting her power flow through her to create a soundproof barrier. "Antony, I need to see your arm."   
  
Harper blinked, caught off guard by her sudden and serious tone. He glanced at Clara, whose smile had slipped away as well. With a shrug that was forcefully calm, he rolled back his left sleeve and held out his arm to Wraith. She took him by the wrist and pressed her other hand to the faint trace of the Dark Mark. Slowly, her eyes narrowed in concentration, Wraith moved her hand up his arm.   
  
There was a slight hissing noise and Harper felt a cold sting as her hand passed over his skin. And then she released him. Frowning at his arm, Harper held it up.   
  
"What—?" he managed to say before he lost his tongue.   
  
The Dark Mark was gone.   
  
"I've officially stolen you," Wraith told him, "You are no longer the Dark Lord's to call."   
  
Harper opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. He turned and stumbled over to sit beside Clara on the couch and swiftly put his head between his knees, breathing deeply. "—I didn't even realize how much I wanted that Mark to go away," he said very quietly. He felt Clara put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he slowly sat up.   
  
"Well, now comes the hard part," Wraith told him. "Antony—will you serve me instead; help me and keep my secrets?"   
  
"I already keep secrets for you," Harper reminded her with a slight smile.   
  
"I've far worse to share."   
  
Harper paled slightly. "I'd wondered," he admitted, "how much worse?"   
  
"I need your word first."   
  
"You know I'm yours," he told her, "You have my word. I'll help you, whatever it is you're doing—and I will keep your secrets."   
  
Wraith threw something at him and he caught it clumsily in his hands. It was bracelet, just the same as the one around Clara's wrist. "That is your protection. The metal is mixed with my blood and will fend off any unkind spells."   
  
Harper looked impressed. He immediately slipped the bracelet on. "So," he said brightly, looking between the two women, "what's next?"   
  
Wraith smirked at him. "Antony, I'm certain that you've already guessed that I don't see everything eye to eye with the Dark Lord."   
  
"Yeah, I got that impression," he said nonchalantly.   
  
"I can tell you now…that I am not his at all," Wraith said, "and that, in fact, I am deliberately working against him."   
  
For that, Harper had no smart reply.   
  
Wraith gave a small sigh and she moved to sit on his other side. "I believe you were at Hogsmeade at the time—but did rumors ever reach you of the time a member of the Order escaped me during a raid?"   
  
"Rings a bell," Harper said slowly, "I didn't pay much attention to them. There was an accusation that you'd… _let_  the guy escape, so…"   
  
"It was the truth," Wraith told him, "His name was Edwin Rowle and I'd never met him before that night. I was going to kill him—and then I realized that I couldn't."   
  
"Why?" Harper asked softly.  
  
"There's a bond between us," Wraith said, "We still haven't really figured it out," she added with a crooked smile. "I pushed him to the back of my mind after that night, determined at the time never to think of him again. But then I was sent to recover at Hogwarts…and we met again."   
  
"The ring," Harper whispered.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, her smile now soft and sad, "The ring is from him. He was my lover in Hogsmeade, the one that I left when the Dark Lord returned. Before Edwin…I thought the only freedom I'd ever be able to find was in death. Before him, I already knew that I wouldn't be able to continue serving the Dark Lord as I had. But now—I will free myself of Voldemort's hold, for him and for myself. I've come back to the Dark Lord's side and taken him as my lover so that I can find a way to break the chains that bind me in his power."   
  
"He can pull your magic from you," Harper murmured.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, "That is the chain that holds me. As long as the bond exists, he has power over me. In the meantime, while I find a way to break that, I've been busy building as well."   
  
"Building what?"   
  
"A power-base of my own," Wraith said, "I've already brought Rafe and his wolves over to my side and the goblins of Gringotts as well."   
  
"Bloody hell," Harper breathed, though he was smiling.   
  
"I will never kill for him again," Wraith said flatly, "I need your help—and Clara's—to keep this deception up and to keep Voldemort off balance when it comes to me."   
  
"Oh, I think you can keep him off balance all on your own," Harper said with a smirk, "But I'll help you with the rest." He looked to Clara and they shared a smile.   
  
"Well, ladies and gentlemen," Clara said brightly, "let's stage a coup."


	73. L'amant de l'Obscurité

_"It is a fool's prerogative to utter truths that no one else will speak."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith woke just before dawn and slipped silently from the Dark Lord's bed. He stirred just slightly when she removed herself from his hold, but Wraith was thankful when he remained asleep. But the simple fact that he had subconsciously noticed her leaving made her pause.  _Bit by bit,_  she thought darkly, smiling at his sleeping form,  _bit by bit, my Lord and love, I will break you._  
  
Still wearing that sharp smile, she left his room and descended from his tower. She entered her own tower just as silently as she had left Voldemort's, for Clara was still sleeping fast in her bed.   
  
Wraith leaned over the side of the bed and smirked at the messy tangle Clara had made of the sheets. She was laying face-down on the bed, the blanket was completely twisted around the girl's long legs, and she had one arm flung over her head, with the other stretched out as if she had reached for someone in the night. Wraith couldn't help but reach out herself and brush her fingers over Clara's chestnut hair. Clara mumbled something unintelligible, but did not wake.   
  
Wraith shook her head, amused, and crossed over to her bookshelf. She was surprised when Clara stirred less than an hour later. Wraith looked up from her place on the couch and saw Clara sit up in bed, blinking bleary eyes at the unfamiliar room. Wraith smirked as she closed the book in her lap. "Good morning, Clara-dove."   
  
Clara blinked at her, squinting. "Morning. What time is it?" she asked, her speech blurred.   
  
"Just after six."   
  
"In the morning."   
  
"Yes."   
  
Clara fell back, her head hitting the pillows with a soft but distinct  _thump_. Wraith laughed and Clara popped back up again. "The only time I see six a.m. is when I've been up all night. Do you need me?"   
  
"No," Wraith told her, "Go back to sleep, Clara-dove."   
  
"Thanks." Clara lay back down and was asleep within moments.   
  
Wraith smiled fondly and went back to her reading. It amused her to listen to Clara's almost constant movement. The girl was clearly a restless sort of sleeper. A couple of hours passed, soft and silent and comfortable, before there was a gentle knock at her door. Wraith blinked at the sound and looked up from the book. "Come in," she called, "The door is unlocked."   
  
Harper pushed it open with his shoulder, his hands occupied with a small silver tray. He threw a smile at Wraith as he set the tray down upon the table. The tray was laden with two small silver pots and three cups. Wraith caught the strong smell of coffee from one of the pots and apparently she wasn't the only one.   
  
"I smell coffee," came the muffle voice from the bed.   
  
Wraith shared a grin with Harper and the boy shrugged. "I recalled that Clara had said last night that her drink of choice in the morning was coffee rather than tea," he explained.   
  
"Very thoughtful of you, my vassal," Wraith told him.   
  
"Which would my Lady prefer?" he asked.   
  
"Tea, for me," she said, "Let Clara have her coffee."   
  
As Harper was pouring a cup of tea for Wraith, Clara dragged herself out of the bed and stumbled over to the couch, almost collapsing beside Wraith. The girl yawned widely and set her head on Wraith's shoulder. Wraith took the tea Harper offered and moved over so that he could sit on her other side. Between the two of them, she found herself amused by how very different they seemed. With Harper's almost inappropriate amount of energy he had in the morning and Clara's slow waking, they were almost polar opposites.   
  
"So," Harper said as Clara gulped down her coffee, "Do we have a plan for the day, my Lady?"   
  
"Actually, we do," Wraith said, "When Clara's actually awake, I'd like to take her down and introduce her to Hakuul."   
  
"Ah," Harper said brightly, "That should be entertaining."   
  
"What?" Clara said, "What do you mean? What's a Hakuul?"   
  
"You'll see," Wraith told her, setting her tea aside. "Finish your coffee, Clare. I'm going to take a bath." She stood and started for the door.   
  
"Ooh, wait," Clara said suddenly, "Do I have permission to play in your wardrobe?"   
  
Wraith laughed under her breath as she looked back. "You do," she said with a nod, "Pick and choose and alter as you like. Be sure to dress warmly, the both of you," she added with a glance out the windows, "It's starting to snow again."   
  
Clara's eyes glittered with delight at having been giving permission to play and Harper simply looked amused by her and shaking her head at the both of them, Wraith left.  
  
She made her way down the tower steps and slipped through the closest door into the bathroom. She had already filled the tub and stepped into the steaming water when she felt something at the corner of her mind.   
  
With a smirk, she slowly lowered herself into the water and ducked her head underneath it, letting the warmth swallow her a moment. She held her breath, letting the water bring heat to her usually cold skin.   
  
Though the sound was muffled by the water, Wraith then heard the soft knock upon the bathroom door. Surfacing again, she pushed her wet hair out of her face and leaned forward against the edge of the tub. "Come in, my Lord."   
  
With a slight gesture from her, the door unlocked just as Voldemort's hand touched it. He entered the room, closing the door behind him and swiftly relocking it. He took a moment, there at the doorway, to look his Wraith over with an approving eye.   
  
"That is a good look for you, pet."   
  
Wraith smirked and lay back in the tub, keeping the water at a modest level just above her breasts. "How kind of you to say so, my Lord," she said dryly, "Is there something you require of me this morning?"   
  
"I woke and you were not there. I was curious as to where you had gone."   
  
"I wake early," Wraith said, "You know that. I returned to my tower to wait for Clara to wake."   
  
"And yet you did not wait for me."   
  
Wraith raised a brow. "I did not know you wished me to," she replied, "I shall be more attentive in the future, if you like."   
  
"You're being coy, pet."   
  
"You like it when I'm coy," she reminded him, her voice a whisper with a darker edge.   
  
"You do know me well," Voldemort admitted, finally moving closer.   
  
"Better than most, I'd say," Wraith said, "But that could be my conceit talking."   
  
"A pride to nearly match my own," Voldemort said with his own smirk, carefully kneeling beside the bathtub. "Come closer, my pet."   
  
Wraith's only response was to smirk as she tilted her head to one side. Realizing his misstep, Voldemort felt a flash of irritation, directed at her and himself in equal measure.   
  
"My Wraith," he corrected, "my Lady."   
  
Enjoying the fact that her Lord seemed in the mood to play her little game, Wraith did as he asked and moved forward, closer to him. Voldemort reached out, slipping a hand around the back of her neck, tilting her head back just slightly as his lips met hers. He breathed in the scent of her, the warmth the water had given to her skin. Wraith touched a hand to his shoulder, keeping him close.   
  
Voldemort traced his mouth down the side of her neck and murmured under his breath, "You're getting my robes wet."   
  
"Then maybe you should take them off," Wraith suggested, her voice breathy as his teeth marked her throat.   
  
Voldemort seemed to hesitate, considering.   
  
"Or," Wraith said, "you could pass me that robe next to the door—and I could send a message to my servants, telling them to vacate my room—and I can finish my bath later."   
  
Voldemort actually stood and had reached for the robe, but his hand froze in the motion as someone knocked gently at the door. Wraith saw the quick flash of irritation in the Dark Lord's eyes when he looked back to her.   
  
"Lady Wraith?" Clara said through the door hesitantly, "I've got a dress for you, did you want to see it?"   
  
"Leave it outside the door for now, Clare," Wraith replied, keeping her eyes on Voldemort, "I'll look at it in a moment. Why don't you and Antony wait for me outside?"   
  
"…Yes, my Lady," Clara said quickly.   
  
Wraith surmised that Clara had figured out that she wasn't alone in the bathroom and was grateful for the girl's quick mind. She waited until she could no longer hear Clara's footsteps before she spoke again.   
  
"There," she said simply, "Now my tower is empty."   
  
But Voldemort straightened, turning his back on her. "Another time," he said with the slightest sneer, "You obviously have plans for the day."   
  
"Oh, don't be so bloody irritable," Wraith snapped at him, standing suddenly and climbing out of the water. She walked past him and grabbed the robe herself, slipping it over her damp skin. "I've no plans that can't simply be postponed; they're not of any great importance. And you know perfectly well," she added, stepping closer to him, "that even if they  _were_  important, I'd change them for  _you_."   
  
For a long tense moment, Voldemort looked down at her and the pretty scowl she was giving him. Finally, his mouth twisted into the mocking semblance of a smile and he shook his head. "Never mind it," he told her, "Go on with your plans."   
  
"My Lord—"   
  
"We'll no doubt have time later," he said, cutting off her impatient reply, though his own impatience was evident, "Finish your bath." He turned away, reaching for the door.   
  
"Voldemort."   
  
He stopped, looking back at her. She had spoken his name with such…brusque exasperation. She was standing there with her arms crossed and still scowling at him.   
  
Voldemort tilted his head to one side, studying her curiously. "…I don't believe I've ever heard anyone say my name in that tone before," he said slowly.   
  
It was the amusement that she heard in his voice that broke Wraith's scowl. She brushed back a lock of wet hair and smirked at him.   
  
"Well, then you were obviously overdue." She took a step towards him, touching a hand to his arm lightly, "I'm going to go to Hogwarts and visit with Severus. I'll be taking Clara and Harper with me. I'll be back this afternoon," she told him, moving closer still, "and if you want—we'll finish what we started."   
  
"Then I will see you this afternoon," he replied evenly. "Give my regards to Severus."         
  
  
  
  
As she had hoped, Wraith found Harper and Clara waiting for her at the front steps of the Manor. Clara had donned a thick sweater of a blazing red color and black scarf was wrapped around her neck. Harper had a long-sleeved green shirt on and a black button up shirt over that. Both were wearing travelling cloaks. They looked up at her expectantly when she stepped out of the Manor and she flashed them a quick smile.   
  
Clara looked absolutely giddy as Wraith walked down the steps to join them. "You weren't alone in that bathroom, were you?"   
  
"No, I was not," Wraith replied evenly, "I'm glad you caught on so quickly."   
  
"Was he annoyed?"   
  
"Oh, a bit," Wraith said with a wicked grin, "He'll get over it."   
  
Clara put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. "So," she said when she managed to pull a straight face, "do you like the dress?"   
  
"I do," Wraith told her. Clara had altered one of Wraith's plainer dresses; the dress itself was long and black, but the sleeves were thin and almost iridescent, their color a striking pale blue to equal her eyes.   
  
"Tony said no white," Clara said, "That it's your 'official' color," she added, actually using air quotes for the word.   
  
"That it is," Wraith told her, only the slightest bit of humor in her tone, "When I'm wearing white, I play the role of the Dark Lord's Lady Death. And I've no intention to play that role today. Come on," she told the two of them, gesturing for them to follow, "Let's go meet Hakuul."   
  
"Is anybody going to tell me what a 'Hakuul' is?" Clara asked plaintively as they made their way around the Manor to the forest.   
  
Wraith and Harper shared a smirk and Wraith stepped forward towards the trees. She gave a sharp whistle that echoed over the grounds. She glanced at Clara as Hakuul appeared from between the trees, trotting through the snow to reach them. "…Can you see him?" Wraith asked softly.   
  
"Well, yeah," Clara said, confused even as she stared at the thin creature coming towards them, "Why?"   
  
Wraith held out her hand as Hakuul reached her and he butted his nose against her palm. "This is Hakuul," she explained, looking to Clara, "He's a thestral."   
  
Clara paled slightly and she nodded slowly. "Okay, I get it," she said weakly, understanding the question. "How did you end up with a thestral?" she asked then.   
  
"He was a gift," Wraith said, "from Severus."   
  
"Severus? You don't mean Snape?" Clara asked incredulously.   
  
Wraith grinned at the expression on the older girl's face. "Yes, actually," she said, "and we're going to go and see him."   
  
"Oh, are we?" Harper said with a smile, "Excellent."   
  
"Where is he?" Clara asked.   
  
"Hogwarts," Wraith told her, "Harper, can I ask you to Apparate over there first and let him know we're coming? I want to take Clara on Hakuul."   
  
"Certainly, my Lady," Harper said with a slight bow.   
  
Clara had paled even further, casting nervous eyes over the thestral, "Um…really?"   
  
"Really," Wraith confirmed. She turned and pulled herself onto Hakuul's back and then leaned down to offer a hand to Clara. "Come on, Clara-dove," she said with an assured smile, "Hakuul's a sweetheart, truly. He won't bite at you."   
  
Clara hesitated still, rather put off by the thestral's sinister appearance, but then she seemed to steel herself and she put her hand in Wraith's. Clara pulled herself up to sit behind Wraith as Hakuul's back and gave Harper a tentative smile.   
  
"Antony, give us a half-an-hour head start," Wraith said, "It'll take us a bit to get there."   
  
"As my Lady commands," Harper replied brightly, bowing to her, making Clara snort.   
  
Wraith gave the girl a sardonic glance over her shoulder, but said to Harper, "Thank you."   
  
With that said, she turned Hakuul 'round and flicked the reins, urging the thestral forward.   
  
"Best hang on," she warned Clara.   
  
Clara immediately wrapped her arms around Wraith's waist Wraith grinned as Hakuul's wings rose on either side of them and their speed increased. The moment that they took to the air, Clara let out a muffled scream and clung all the tighter. Wraith laughed, enjoying the cold wind upon her face. They rose higher through the snowfall until at last they were above the clouds.   
  
"Clara," Wraith said, "Open your eyes. Look."   
  
With great reluctance, Clara opened her eyes just slightly to see. "Oh," she breathed, her fear forgotten for just a moment.   
  
There was a sea of clouds beneath them, with the sun shining down, giving them an appearance akin to water.   
  
"That's just…beautiful," Clara whispered, "Makes you feel…I don't know…small."   
  
"It does," Wraith agreed, rather solemnly.   
  
  
  
  
Harper hopped up the front steps of Hogwarts, a spring in his step as he pulled open the heavy front doors. He had barely stepped inside when a door in the hall opened and Snape appeared just inside it.   
  
The former professor scowled to see the boy. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.   
  
"Good morning to you too, Professor," Harper said brightly, "Our Lady is on her way to you, she sent me ahead as a forewarning."   
  
Snape's scowl lessened only slightly. "I take it that she will arrive with Hakuul then?"   
  
"Yes, sir," Harper said with a nod, "and a surprise as well."   
  
"I don't much care for 'surprises'," Snape commented. He walked past Harper and out the front doors, his eyes already scanning the skies.   
  
"Oh," Harper said, following him, "Hm…pity."   
  
Snape gave Harper a sharp look. "…And why do you say that?"   
  
Harper shrugged. "Just that I had a surprise of my own is all."   
  
"Is it of some great importance?" Snape asked with a slight sneer.   
  
"It could very well be," Harper replied.   
  
Snape was struck by the serious tone underlying the boy's answer. When he saw Snape studying him, Harper pulled up his left sleeve and held out his arm to Snape. Snape frowned at him and then looked down. His eyes sharpened when he saw nothing.   
  
"…You no longer wear the Dark Lord's Mark," he said slowly.   
  
"I am no longer the Dark Lord's," Harper told him, "Our Lady 'stole' me. I'm solely her servant now."   
  
Snape did not like how very knowing the boy's smirk was. "I see," he said evenly, "Perhaps for the best. You are no soldier, boy."   
  
Harper laughed lightly, raising his eyes to the sky. "That's putting it mildly," he said.   
  
A sharp cry echoed from the sky above and a moment later, the two men saw Hakuul wheeling down from the clouds to land lightly near the castle. Snape sucked in a breath when he saw that Wraith was not alone. Clara climbed down shakily from the thestral and stumbled, obviously wanting to kiss the ground out of relief.   
  
Wraith rolled her eyes at the girl and then looked up to where Snape and Harper stood. Her smile was sharp and smug when she saw the surprise on Snape's face. "Severus," she said, walking up the steps and holding out her hands to him.   
  
Snape reluctantly took them in his own, but only for a moment before he stepped back. "My Lady," he said, bowing slightly.   
  
Wraith glanced to Harper. "Did you tell him?"   
  
"Couldn't resist, my Lady," Harper replied with a smile.   
  
"I didn't expect that you could," Wraith said dryly, "Have a house-elf show you my former room. You and Clara can wait for me there. I need to speak with Severus for a minute."   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Harper said, bowing his head. "Come on, Clare," he said, stepping down to offer a hand to the still shaky girl.   
  
Wraith touched a hand to Snape's arm, gesturing for them to go inside. Side by side the two made their way up to Snape's office. Only when the door was firmly closed did Snape turn to Wraith with a scowl.   
  
"What have you done?"   
  
Wraith blinked at the severity of his tone. "Gathered allies," she retorted as he strode around his desk to sit. "I needed more help, so I fetched Clara and brought Harper into the fold. They're loyal, Severus."   
  
"The Dark Lord believes  _you_  loyal," Snape reminded her sharply.   
  
Wraith's face went blank and her eyes became bitterly cold.   
  
"Have you faith in me at all, Severus?" she demanded of him, her tone frigid.   
  
Before Snape could reply, they both heard someone cough delicately. Dumbledore looked between the two of them when they turned. "Terribly sorry to interrupt—but would one of you mind explaining what is going on?"   
  
Wraith gave Snape another chilling glance before she spoke. "As I told Severus, last night I brought Clara Bauman to the Manor and I took Harper from the Dark Lord. They're going to help me."   
  
"You told them."   
  
"I told them what they needed to know," Wraith replied simply.   
  
"And what did you tell them of  _me_?" Snape asked caustically.   
  
Wraith frowned at him, suddenly aware of why Snape was acting so irate.   
  
"Nothing," she told him, "They know that I consider you a friend, and that you knew I had taken a lover, but had kept it to yourself. I also told them to watch their mouths around you—for our friendship only extends so far considering your loyalty to the Dark Lord."   
  
Snape blinked and he looked away—though not before Wraith saw the flame of abashment in his eyes. Wraith crossed her arms and waited.   
  
"…My apologies," Snape murmured.   
  
"Accepted," Wraith replied. "Are your 'vassals' protected?"   
  
"They are," Wraith said, "They're untouchable under my protection."   
  
"Good," Snape said lightly, "Because I wouldn't put faith in them being able to protect themselves."   
  
"Harper's done alright for himself," Wraith said, "I don't think he's ever been wholly the Dark Lord's. When I took the Dark Mark from his arm…I don't believe I've ever seen such relief on someone's face. They'll both serve me well, Severus, for they are both my friends. And frankly, I need someone like Clara, to help me keep Voldemort wrapped around my finger."   
  
She raised an eyebrow when Snape sputtered and she fought the smile that came to her lips.   
  
"I should go to them, Clara's not a patient woman."    
  
"Go on then," Snape told her, "I'm sure the three of you have a great deal of plotting to do."    
  
  
  
  
Wraith found Harper and Clara sitting on the floor in front of her fireplace, both laughing. Harper saw her first and he grinned, though there was a trace of worry in his eyes. "Everything okay?" he asked.   
  
"Everything's fine," Wraith told him.   
  
"Are you sure he doesn't suspect anything?" Harper asked delicately. "I mean, we  _are_  talking about a man who Albus Dumbledore trusted _completely_ —and look where he ended up."   
  
"With all due respect to the man, I am not Dumbledore," Wraith said placidly, "If Snape suspected anything, I would know. Trust in me, Antony, I watch him very carefully."   
  
"Can I say something?" Clara asked, raising her hand.   
  
"Go on, Clare," Wraith said.   
  
"He's You-Know-Who's top lieutenant—and you're friends with him."   
  
"Very astute, Clara-dove," Wraith said dryly, "Think there's a reason behind that?"   
  
"When you break, will he follow?" Harper asked.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith replied, "I could hope—but I won't count on it. That is why…we'll be careful around him—even more so than we are with the Dark Lord. Severus is well versed in treachery, but the Dark Lord will never expect it from me."   
  
Clara looked between Wraith and Harper, a slight smirk on her face. "Alright," she said, standing up, "I think it's time for a little girl talk. Tony?"   
  
"Understood," Harper said, standing as well, "I'll head over to the library and entertain myself while you ladies chat."   
  
"Thanks," Clara said, leaning over to kiss him lightly on the cheek.   
  
Harper bowed his head to Wraith before he disappeared out the door.   
  
Wraith looked to Clara then and raised an eyebrow.   
  
"Time to talk sex," Clara told her frankly. She threw herself down on the couch and patted the space next to her. "Get your butt over here, little girl."   
  
Wraith laughed before she could help herself and moved to sit beside Clara with a grin.   
  
"So," Clara said, "I know that you and Edwin were very close, but he's never come out and flat admitted that you two were lovers. Were you?"   
  
"Oh, yes," Wraith replied, "We were."   
  
"Who got to you first?" Clara asked carefully.   
  
"Edwin did," Wraith said, a little amused by the line of questioning, "though it wasn't for lack of trying on the Dark Lord's part. The timing was just never right…and in the end I was glad for that. Edwin was my first and I'll always remember that."   
  
Wraith saw a trace of embarrassment color Clara's cheeks and she flashed the older girl a puckish grin.   
  
"And yes…I'm well aware of the fact that you were  _his_  first. He told me."   
  
"Oh, thank you God," Clara breathed, "I was afraid to say anything!"   
  
Wraith laughed again, shaking her head. "No worries, Clara-dove," she said simply.   
  
"Well, now for the difficult question," Clara said, "…What is he like?"   
  
It took Wraith a long while to answer.   
  
"…Intense," she said at last, her eyes on the fire, "but cold. There's always a barrier between us, a distance that he seems keen on keeping. Though, I am wearing those walls down, bit by bit."   
  
"Tell me more," Clara prompted, "anything that you think is relevant."   
  
"It took us a long time to get to this point," Wraith said, "I think he started toying with the idea of my being his lover maybe half a year after he took me from Azkaban. And there were times when he would just pull abruptly away. It was almost as though he were mad at himself for even wanting me."   
  
"But he has you now," Clara murmured.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said slowly, "but there's still that distance to be crossed."   
  
"You said he was 'intense'," Clara said, "So…he's really into the sex."   
  
Wraith chuckled darkly, closing her eyes a moment. "Yes and no," she replied, "I don't…It's hard to explain what our relationship amount to. He does enjoy the sex," she said dryly, "but the pleasure he gets…it's…simpler than sexual. The Dark Lord has a strong interest in dominating people, in bringing reactions from them."   
  
"And he gets that from you with sex," Clara said.   
  
"Exactly," Wraith said, "It's more basic than simple desire to him... It's more a part of primal emotions: greed, lust for power— a sense of self-importance," she added with a wry smirk.   
  
"What does he like?" Clara asked.   
  
"Control," Wraith replied, with the same smirk, "though he's hard pressed to get it from me. And power," she said then, "It's all about power to him. And for him, I am the physical embodiment of that. Like I told you last night, there's a link between him and I that allows him to feed on my power, adding to his. When we sleep together I willing share it with him."   
  
"Didn't you tell me that it hurts you when he takes your power?"   
  
"It doesn't really hurt when I simply give it to him," Wraith explained, "and I only give him a small amount."   
  
"Adds a little spice, I take it?" Clara said, raising a knowing brow.   
  
"Oh, yes," Wraith said with a dark smile.   
  
"Is he good?" Clara asked bluntly.   
  
"He's not Edwin," Wraith murmured. "True, I do tend to leave his bed satisfied…but it's different…and it's never enough."   
  
Clara was quiet, subdued as she listened.   
  
"I love Edwin," Wraith said simply, "in a way that I can ever love anyone else. The Dark Lord and I have a connection and he has roots in me, but what I feel for him…it isn't love."   
  
Clara didn't say anything for a few minutes. Then she sighed. "Okay," she said, "I'm going to give you a little advice and you have to try this at least once. But first, tell me something—have you ever been on top?"   
  
Wraith felt a blush touch her cheeks. "Not with him," she admitted.   
  
"Do it," Clara told her, "You say he likes control—take it from him, turn the tables, and see where it gets you."   
  
When Wraith blinked at her, Clara shrugged.   
  
"I'm fairly well versed in all things sexual, sweetie. And I've had a few lovers who got off on control. But when  _I_  took control of things…well, reactions varied, but none did me wrong," she said slyly. "Also, takes things out of the bedroom. You said he's got that big desk in his tower…"   
  
"Oh, sweet moon," Wraith mumbled, covering her eyes with her hand.   
  
"Hey, ain't this why you brought me here?" Clara asked, "I'm good at what I do, love." She found the pale blush on Wraith's cheeks adorable. "Let's move on to clothing," she said, getting to her feet, "and Harper can be present for that, I think. Why don't we go find him?"   
  
"Sounds good," Wraith said, standing.   
  
Clara slipped her arm over Wraith's shoulder as they walked. "I'm thinking bold colors for you," she mused, "Jewel tones, you know? I saw a few dresses in your closest that I want you to model for me, those golds and reds..."


	74. Foundering Hearts

_"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear. And the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith, Clara, and Harper returned to the Manor later that afternoon. Harper offered to keep Clara occupied and introduce her to the others that lived in the Manor. Wraith left them in the drawing room, trusting in both Harper and the protections she'd given them both to keep them safe while they were without her. She only hoped that she would be present for any incidents Clara was likely to cause.   
  
Wraith realized as she started up the staircase that the Manor had a stillness about it, as if it were holding its breath. The stillness did nothing to convince her that the Manor was empty. She walked at a slower pace down the halls, her intended destination the Dark Lord's tower.   
  
She had only just turned a corner when suddenly she reached for her power, spinning around and catching her stalker by his arm. With her power behind her hand, she was able to throw him against the wall and she quickly followed the motion by pressing the blade of her dagger against his throat.   
  
Rafe grinned at her despite the dagger and Wraith found herself grinning back.   
  
"You should know better than to try and sneak up on Death, my wolf," she told him mischievously.   
  
"Ah, but how could one who has brushed lips with Death resist the challenge of it?"   
  
Wraith laughed, extended her senses to assure herself that they were alone. "Pity for you that my lips are otherwise occupied," she replied with a sharp smile.   
  
"And what of your heart?" Rafe asked her, a warm and teasing light to his eyes.   
  
Wraith's smile faded, as did the puckish light to her own eyes. She stepped back, sheathing the blade. "…That too," she replied, with a shadow of a smile returning. "I'll assume that since you are here and not hunting, you've lost the trail."   
  
"We didn't lose it," Rafe said, "It simply ended. It was manufactured, to send us all on a wild goose chase."   
  
"Yes, because that makes you sound so much less the fool," Wraith said scathingly. She sighed, crossing her arms. "There's no help for it, I suppose. I'll have to assist you in finding the true trail."   
  
"Your help will be much appreciated, my Lady Death," Rafe replied, bowing his head.   
  
"I've a task for you, my wolf," Wraith said slowly.   
  
Rafe's eyes sharpened at her change of tone. "Speak it, my Lady, and I will obey."   
  
Wraith smirked at the antipathy in his placating words. She stepped closer to him, putting him back against the wall. "…I will set you and your wolves on the right trail…and you will bring me Ethan Vaisey— _alive_."   
  
"Vaisey?" Rafe repeated, "The traitorous little puppy that the Dark Lord put to use behind enemy lines?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, "I have reason to believe that the Imperious Curse placed upon him has been compromised. I want him alive, Rafe. You will bring the puppy home to the Manor for me. And you will tell no one that I gave this task."   
  
"I have to wonder… What do you want with him?"   
  
"I have to wonder why you're questioning me," Wraith retorted, raising an eyebrow.   
  
The look in her eyes sent the smallest shiver of fear down the werewolf's spine, though he hid it well. "It was curiosity that prompted the question, my Lady," he said, "It will not happen again."   
  
"Oh, you do wear your resentment well, my wolf," Wraith told him fondly, "The collar, whether mine or the Dark Lord's, does chafe you, doesn't it?"   
  
"I begin to wonder if there is truly a difference between the two," Rafe said darkly.   
  
"You won't have to wear mine forever," Wraith said, "You'll have your freedom—when I have  _mine_."    
  
Rafe gave her an odd look. "…You are second only to the Dark Lord in power. What  _freedom_  do you need?"   
  
Wraith's gaze was cold. "Some chains are not so obvious as to be seen with the naked eye, my wolf."   
  
"I wish to tell my sister of our arrangement."   
  
"Not yet."   
  
Rafe cursed under his breath, running a hand through ragged hair. "I have never kept anything from her before. She is my twin, the other half of me! She knows that I'm not telling her something, she can feel it. She knows that something has changed…and if I don't tell her, she'll go looking for the answers on her own."   
  
"She won't find them," Wraith assured him.   
  
"If you would simply allow me—!"   
  
"It is not only  _your_  family or  _your_  life that hangs in the balance, Rafe," Wraith hissed at him, "This is a  _far_  grander scheme than you know. There is too much at stake. I will not allow you or your blood to compromise my plans. Do you understand me?"   
  
Rafe was not able to hide the flash of fear that time. Slowly, he nodded. "Yes, my Lady."   
  
Wraith held his gaze for a moment longer before she turned away, starting down the hall again.   
  
"You truly are a match for him, you know that?"   
  
Wraith paused, glancing back. "My dear wolf," she said with a dark and sharp smile, "You had best pray that I am  _more_  than a match for him. That is how you'll know that I'll win... Remember that you  _need_  me to win."    
  
  
  
  
Wraith led Rafe up to the Dark Lord's tower, entering first without him.   
  
Voldemort was seated behind his desk and when he looked up, Wraith saw the briefest smile pass through his eyes, though it never touched his lips. "My Lady."   
  
"We've company, my Lord," she told him, her tone deceptively disappointed.   
  
"Company?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing.   
  
"Rafe is here," she replied, "The trail was false, laid to deceive us."   
  
"And you are not surprised," he commented.   
  
"Not in the slightest," she said, smiling, "We'd do best to remember that these particular enemies tend to think like we do. They used to be us." She raised an eyebrow and her smile went sharp. "Shall I show our wolf in and let him try and explain himself?"   
  
"Please do."   
  
Wraith stepped out of the tower, walking down the stairs to meet Rafe at the bottom. She gestured to him and he fell into step behind her. When they entered the tower together, the Dark Lord motioned for Wraith. She smirked and walked around the desk, seating herself on the arm of his chair and regarding Rafe with a cool eye. Voldemort laid his hand possessively upon Wraith's waist as he gave Rafe a dark look.   
  
"So, the trail was a decoy."   
  
"Yes, Dark Lord," Rafe replied, "We reached the end of it last night and there was nothing to be found."  
  
"And to think I had put such faith in Ze'eva's tracking skills."   
  
Wraith saw the fury flash in Rafe's eyes at the insult to his sister, but the werewolf quickly buried it. "…The decoy trail was well laid, my Lord," he said through clenched teeth, "My sister has no equal, I assure you."   
  
"For the trail to have fooled even Ze'eva, someone must have actually travelled it," Wraith said placidly, "My Lord, if our wolf will lead me to the end of this false trail, I should be able to find the true one and thus bring us to the traitors."   
  
Voldemort looked to Wraith sharply. "Very well," he said slowly, "Tonight then, Rafe, you will lead my Wraith out and she will set you right."   
  
"I thank you, my Lord, my Lady," Rafe said, bowing his head.   
  
"This is the last failure I will accept from you, wolf," Voldemort told him, "Fail me again and we shall have to revisit our arrangement. Is that understood?"   
  
"Perfectly, Dark Lord," Rafe snapped, his teeth bared.   
  
Voldemort's eyes narrowed and Wraith saw him reach for his wand. She laid a hand on his arm before he could reach it. The Dark Lord paused and Wraith saw his lips twist in a dark semblance of a smile.   
  
"You are quite fortunate, Rafe, that my Lady is inclined to mercy," he said to the werewolf, "Else I'd have peeled the skin from your bones for the insolence in your tone."   
  
Rafe paled slightly, his eyes darting to the little smile that Wraith wore. "Believe me, Dark Lord, I am grateful to her. Forgive my insolence. It will not happen again."   
  
"I'm inclined to believe the first, but hesitant to believe the second," Voldemort said dryly. "Be gone, wolf. My Wraith will find you tonight."   
  
Rafe bowed low and turned, quickly leaving the tower.   
  
Wraith waited half a second and then stood, turning on her heel to face Voldemort.   
  
"Don't presume to dictate who I punish, pet," he said softly, though his voice held venom.   
  
"I've no intention of doing so," she said simply, tilting her head to the side. "I was simply offering silent advice. You could have easily ignored that touch, my Lord."   
  
"Perhaps your touch is not so easily ignored."   
  
Wraith smirked, her eyes narrowing and going warm. She turned, one hand on her hip as she sauntered to the hidden door. She glanced over her shoulder at the Dark Lord as she opened the door and disappeared up the steps.   
  
  
  
  
As the sun set and the usual shadows enveloped the Manor, Wraith returned to her own tower. Harper and Clara were already within, waiting. Harper was sitting on the edge of the couch, while Clara rummaged through Wraith's wardrobe. They both looked over when Wraith entered.   
  
"My Lady," Harper said, hopping up, "I spoke with Rafe briefly as he was leaving. You're going hunting with them?"   
  
"That's the idea," Wraith said lightly, "I'll need to change out of this dress, Clara-dove."   
  
"Ooh, I think I have just the thing," Clara replied, reaching for something in the wardrobe. She pulled out a pair of black trousers and a long-sleeved black shirt. She set the shirt over the back of the couch and touched her wand to it. The edges of the sleeves and the hem seemed to fade and Wraith watched with interest as a pattern emerged.   
  
After a moment, Clara stepped back and gestured for Wraith to look closer. Wraith lifted the shirt up to the light. White roses crept up from the bottom of the shirt, vivid against the black and the sleeves were circled with thorny vines.   
  
"Huh," Wraith muttered, "I like it."   
  
"Do you want me to come with you?" Harper asked her, "I could watch your back."   
  
"No, Antony," Wraith said, "I need you here to keep an eye on Clara."   
  
"Hey!" Clara exclaimed indignantly.   
  
Wraith smirked at her and then looked to Harper. "I won't be long," she told him, "I'll only be setting our wolves on the right track and leaving the rest to them. The Dark Lord wants me to preserve my power in any case."   
  
"Is there any particular reason?" Harper asked.   
  
"Not that I'm aware of—yet," Wraith replied darkly, "I'll know soon enough, I'm sure."  
  
  
  
  
Snape paced the floor of his office, restless. He could feel the eyes of the portraits on him, but after so many years of practice, he was able to ignore them easily enough.   
  
"You seem restive tonight, Severus."   
  
Snape jumped and spun around to face his chair behind the desk. Wraith sat there, smiling indulgently at him.   
  
"…I wish you wouldn't do that," Snape muttered.   
  
"Sorry," Wraith said unconvincingly, "I have to be quick. There's somewhere else I need to be at the moment."   
  
"Oh?"   
  
"Our 'hunters' reached the end of the trail. It was a decoy. I'm going to see if I can't help them. I came to invite you along."   
  
Snape blinked at her. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.   
  
"No real reason," Wraith replied with a shrug, "I just thought you'd like something to do."   
  
"Does the Dark Lord know that you're asking me?"   
  
"Does he need to?"   
  
"Wraith…"   
  
"I gave Rafe a task today," she said, ignoring his exasperated tone, "If I want him to be able to carry it out…I need him to first find the traitors."   
  
"And what have you told him to do?"   
  
"He's going to find me Vaisey," she said, "and bring him back to me alive."   
  
"Again, I must ask—why?"   
  
"For Harper's sake," Wraith answered softly.   
  
"Am I to understand that Rafe is to keep this assignment to himself?" Snape asked.   
  
"Yes."   
  
Snape said nothing, but Wraith saw something akin to discomfort pass over his face. "What?" she asked as she stood.   
  
"It's really nothing," Snape said dismissively.   
  
"Severus," Wraith sighed.   
  
"You've your own agenda, child," Snape said flatly, "I don't feel comfortable out of the loop."   
  
Wraith paused and then rolled her eyes. "As if you've always told me everything about  _your_  plans," she said dryly.   
  
"You know everything now," Snape reminded her.   
  
"No, I don't," she retorted, "…and neither do you," she added, her eyes drifting up to Dumbledore's portrait.   
  
"Ah," Snape said, "Well, I suppose I'm rather used to _that_."   
  
"Are you coming with me tonight?" Wraith asked.   
  
"Why not?" Snape said wryly, "Shall we go then?" he asked, gesturing to the door.   
  
"Give me a moment here," Wraith requested softly.   
  
Snape frowned, glancing between her and the portrait. Finally, he nodded once. "I'll wait in the entrance hall."   
  
"Thank you."   
  
Wraith waited until he had stepped out before she turned to the wall of portraits. "Everyone leave," she said firmly, her tone making a few portraits jump inside their frames before they scurried out. Only Dumbledore and Phineas did not move. "You too, Phineas," Wraith said, turning sharp eyes to him. The portrait faked a yawn and sauntered slowly from his frame.   
  
Wraith crossed her arms and looked to Dumbledore expectantly. He smiled sadly, "I stand by what I said before, child," he said, "It is safer that you do not know what Grindelwald took."   
  
"He told me that I should read up on my fairy tales," Wraith said slowly, "Does that mean anything significant to you?"   
  
Dumbledore paled. "What?" he whispered.   
  
"Fairy tales, Albus," Wraith said tightly, "What do you suppose he meant?"   
  
"You've spoken to him?"   
  
"Answer my question," was her firm reply.   
  
"…Beedle the Bard."    
  
Wraith tilted her head to the side curiously. "Sounds familiar," she remarked lightly, "and the answer will be there?"   
  
"Yes," Dumbledore said flatly.   
  
"Thank you, Albus," Wraith said dryly, "You've been  _such_  a help."   
  
"You must be careful of him, Wraith," Dumbledore told her as she turned away.   
  
"Oh, I know," she replied, glancing back, "I'll watch my back. After all, he's almost as devious as  _you_  were."   
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Wraith saw him flinch at the accusation.    
  
  
  
  
The forest edge where the wolves waited was pitch black. Wraith and Snape appeared several feet from them all and slowly made their approach. It was Ze'eva who saw them first. "My Lady," she said tightly, "My brother tells me that you can find the right trail."   
  
"I should be able to, yes," Wraith replied, lowering the hood of her coat. "Don't be offended, Ze'eva," she added in an undertone, "As I mentioned to your brother, someone must have actually walked this trail, maybe items from several others to create the illusion that many had walked it. If you show me precisely where the trail ends, I should be able to sense  _why_  it ended."   
  
Ze'eva fidgeted and glanced at Rafe, who was leaning against a nearby tree. The alpha nodded to his sister and Ze'eva sighed. "This way," she said, gesturing.   
  
She led them a short distance away and Wraith knelt, placing her hand on the ice-strewn ground.   
  
"It was one person at the least," she murmured, her eyes closed, "He Disapparated right here. I can follow him; take you to where he disappeared to. You should be able to pick up his real trail there and follow him to the rest."   
  
"Take us," Rafe said.   
  
Wraith nodded, standing up and dusting frost from her knees. She breathed the frigid air in and drew upon her power. The gathering of wolves gave a collected gasp as blackness surrounding them.   
  
When everyone's vision cleared, there were in another forest, just as black and cold, but miles from where they had been only moments before. Off in the distance, there were lights coming from the windows of a cabin.   
  
"There," Wraith whispered.   
  
Rafe gestured to Ze'eva and the others and they started forward in near silence. But after only a few steps, sudden movement in the shadows to their left caught their attention.   
  
Wraith darted forward, catching the guard by the collar of his robes. He opened his mouth to shout, but Wraith silenced him with a spark of power. "Go," she hissed at Rafe and his pack. Rafe nodded and the wolves started forward again.   
  
Wraith and Snape turned their attention to the prisoner. He was a youth of about fifteen, with sandy blonde hair and wide pale eyes.   
  
"What is your name?" Wraith asked him, still holding him by his robes.   
  
"Vince," he said, his voice cracking slightly.   
  
Wraith stiffened and took a closer look at him. "…Named after your father, no doubt," she said softly.   
  
The youth struggled again, but Wraith's power held him sway.   
  
"Is your father there in the cabin?" Wraith asked him then.   
  
"No," Vince said quickly.   
  
"He's telling the truth," Wraith commented to Snape. "Do you know Ethan Vaisey?" she asked.   
  
"What? Yeah," Vince said, confused. "What about him?"   
  
"Is he there?"   
  
Vince said nothing, biting down on his lip.   
  
"Ah," Wraith murmured, "I'll take that as a yes."   
  
In the distance, there were sudden sounds of battle, screams and flashes of light. Wraith released her hold on Vince and pushed him down to the ground. He landed, sprawling on the forest floor. He turned quickly, preparing to fight, wand in hand.   
  
"Vince," Wraith said gently, "I've only one more question."   
  
The youth shivered in the cold. "And then what?" he demanded, "You'll kill me? Like the Dark Lord killed my mother?"   
  
"The Dark Lord did not kill your mother," Wraith told him, "I did."   
  
Vince's pale face contorted with fury and he screamed with it, rising quickly and rushing at her. Wraith let him. He hit her full on, pushing her back. She spun so that she landed on top of him and she held him down by his arms. He screamed again, struggling violently against the magic that held him down.   
  
"Pay attention, Vince," Wraith told him, "and answer my question."   
  
"You bitch!" Vince screamed at her, "You murderous bitch! You killed my mother!"   
  
"I'm sorry."   
  
That stopped Vince cold. He stared up at her in bewilderment. "W-what?"   
  
"I'm sorry," Wraith repeated gently, "I'm sorry that I took her from you."   
  
"Why?" Vince asked, and Wraith saw tears in his eyes—eyes that were the same as Katherine's. "That's what you do, ain't it? Kill for  _him_?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith replied, "that is what I do. That doesn't mean I don't regret it, Vince Talbot. Now listen," she said firmly, "Severus here says that you were a brilliant potion-maker in school. Did you brew the Wolfsbane potion last month?"   
  
Vince frowned at her and then twisted his head to see Snape standing a few feet away. "Professor Snape?"   
  
"Talbot," Snape replied, "answer her."  
  
"—Yes," Vince said, looking back to Wraith. "I did."   
  
"You almost got me killed, you know," she said, rather conversationally.   
  
"Yeah well, 'almost' only counts in horseshoes and hand-grenades."   
  
Wraith grinned at the unexpected quip. "You're a smart boy," she said almost fondly. She stood up, releasing him again. "You should run now while you have the chance, Vince. You can't help your friends here. Go and find your father."   
  
Vince stood up slowly, keeping his eyes on her. "…Why are you letting me go?" he asked suspiciously.   
  
"I suppose that I owe you, don't I?"   
  
Vince stood perfectly still for only a moment more before he turned and ran. Wraith saw him Disapparate a short distance away.   
  
"Let's go," Wraith to Snape, "We're done here."   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Snape replied.   
  
The title made Wraith pause and she looked in confusion to him. He smiled, just slightly.   
  
"That was rather well done, child," he told her.   
  
"My poor best for the boy," she murmured. "I might not be able to do anything more for him. I want to go home, Sev."   
  
Snape knew she wasn't speaking of the Manor, but he nodded, putting his hand on her arm and leading her away.


	75. Price of Pleasure

_"Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, like diamonds we are cut with our own dust._  
  
  
  
  
Snape accompanied Wraith back to the Manor, keeping a hand under her arm as they walked up the front path.   
  
"I'm alright, Sev," Wraith murmured, trying vainly to shrug off his hand, "I promise I didn't overextend myself."   
  
"I know," Snape replied, "But all the same, child, you are tired."   
  
Wraith smirked just slightly at him and then came to a dead halt on the path. Snape frowned slightly, looking down at her.   
  
"I miss you."   
  
Snape blinked at the soft tone of her voice. After a breath of silence, he cleared his throat and adopted a slight sneer. "Well, I will admit that the castle seems abnormally quiet since you left."   
  
Wraith laughed under her breath and they started back up the path. "Have you seen any sign of the ghosts?"   
  
"I've not personally witnessed anything, but the portraits report that several more spirits have reappeared within the castle," Snape told her, "They seem to be keeping their distance from me."   
  
"I can't imagine why," Wraith said dryly, "It's not as if they tried to kill you or anything."   
  
"Of course not," Snape replied, "You could have easily been their intended target, after all."   
  
"Oh, thank you for the reminder," Wraith said.   
  
Together they entered the Manor and Snape followed Wraith into the sitting room. Harper and Clara were seated on one of the short couches near the fireplace and Wormtail was in his usual shadowed corner. Wraith was rather surprised to see Rabastan Lestrange present as well. The man was sitting at one of the windows and he gave no sign that he saw Wraith and Snape enter the room.   
  
Harper was the first to see them and he immediately leapt to his feet. Clara followed his example but a moment later. They both bowed to Wraith as she joined them by the fire. She took Harper's place on the couch at his silent gesture and he sat on the hearth at her feet. Clara hesitated, looking to both Wraith and Harper for instruction, before she curled up on the couch again. Snape stood behind the couch, only briefly glancing at Rabastan and Wormtail at the other end of the room.   
  
"Antony, what has Clara done to you?" Wraith demanded, studying him closely.   
  
Harper gave her a slightly abashed grin and ran a hand over his now slicked-back hair. "It was only a haircut," he said defensively, "She insisted. I had no say in the matter."   
  
"I just thought that it would be better if you looked a little more…respectable," Clara said, raising her hands, "That ruffled look you had was adorable, Tony, but your hair looked like a crow's nest. We are our Lady's servants. We should look our best, be a credit to her."   
  
"And I agreed with you," Harper conceded, "Thus, haircut."  He rubbed the slight stubble on his chin musingly, "Course, she wants me to shave too."   
  
"You've already lost that battle," Clara said airily, "You just don't know it yet."   
  
Wraith fought a laugh and lost. Clara smiled puckishly, chewing on her lip.   
  
"Were you successful, my Lady?" Harper asked.   
  
"Enough so that the Dark Lord should be pleased," Wraith replied, "It shouldn't be long before Rafe and his wolves arrive with any prisoners. Though, I imagine there will be few left alive, consider the wolves' temperaments."   
  
She tilted her head slightly to the side, her smile going sharp.   
  
"…Rabastan, you've said not a word to me."   
  
Everyone in the room went tense around her.   
  
Rabastan himself paled slightly as his eyes turned to where Wraith sat with her back to him. "Nor has Wormtail," he pointed out with a small sneer.   
  
"Wormtail is allowed his shadows," Wraith replied, "He has earned them in my eyes. But you, dear Lestrange, have not."   
  
Rabastan's sneer became more pronounced. "Just how did a sniveling  _thing_  like Wormtail earn anything from you?"   
  
Wraith turned her head in Rabastan's direction. "I am grateful to Pettigrew—as  _you_  should be as well. Sniveling coward he may be, but he is the one who brought our Lord back to us. If not for Wormtail, Rabastan, you and I would rot still in Azkaban."   
  
"And yet now your tormentor rots in your place," the man muttered.  
  
Snape heard Wraith inhale sharply and the air around her seemed to grow colder. Immediately, he walked around to the front of the couch and bowed before her. "I believe that I shall take my absence for the night, my Lady," he said, "Unless you have further need of me?"   
  
"No," Wraith said softly, not looking at him, "Thank you for your assistance tonight, Severus. We shall speak again soon."   
  
"My Lady," Snape said again.   
  
"Clara, Antony, see Severus to the door for me."   
  
Harper and Clara jumped up at her words, quickly following Snape out of the room.   
  
"Wormtail."   
  
The rat-like man was gone almost before his name had left Wraith's lips. The moment he was out the door, it shut sharply behind him.   
  
Rabastan jolted at the sound of it and he gripped the arms of his chair, turning his head slowly to see Wraith standing from the couch. She walked languidly around the edge of the couch, approaching him as a tiger would its prey.   
  
"I am kinder than our Lord," Wraith said slowly, "…That does not mean that I am kind. But _like_  our Lord, Rabastan—I cannot tolerate such blatant insolence."   
  
"My apologies, Lady Wraith," Rabastan said quickly as she reached him, "I spoke without thought."   
  
"Do you forget who I am?"   
  
Rabastan dared only to glance at her briefly before lowering his eyes again. "The Dark Lord's lover."   
  
"His whore, you wish to say," Wraith corrected, her power raking lightly over the surface of his mind. "You  _do_  forget," she murmured, reaching down to brush her fingertips down his neck, "that before I was ever his lover…I was his  _Lady Death_."   
  
Her fingers traced lightly over Rabastan's chest and he let out a hoarse and painful gasp of pain as his heart faltered beneath the touch of her cold power.   
  
"This is not the first time I have suffered your tongue, but it  _will_  be the last. You allow your disappointment to overcome your good sense—what little of it you have, anyway. I warned you from the start of your 'courtship' that no marriage would be made until the Dark Lord is finished with me. I told you," she all but whispered, while Rabastan turned gray and gasped for air, "…not to hold your breath."   
  
Wraith stepped back, releasing him from her hold. He sucked in a breath, the color returning to his face. At once, he surged forward to kneel on the ground in front of her.   
  
"Please forgive my foolish tongue," he gasped, "My Lady, I beg of you."   
  
"Raise your eyes," Wraith commanded him, one hand upon the hilt of her dagger.   
  
Rabastan lifted his face to her, a small glimmer of selfish hope in his eyes when they met hers. Wraith drew the blade from her belt and set the tip of it against Rabastan's cheek. The man froze, unable to pull away from the blade's course. Slowly, Wraith drew a line across his skin. A trickle of blood coursed down his cheek from the shallow cut.   
  
"Stand," Wraith said, sheathed the dagger again.   
  
Shakily, Rabastan did so.   
  
"A reminder, I think," she murmured, touching her fingertip to the wound, "of my displeasure."   
  
She traced her finger along the cut. The wound turned black under her touch, lines of it crosshatching beneath the man's skin. When she dropped her hand, Rabastan lifted his own to examine the cut. He flinched for, though the cut had the feel of a scar beneath his hand, it ached like a fresh burn. The pain continued even when his hand fell away from it. He looked to Wraith pleadingly. She smiled at him, cold and sharp.   
  
"A petty and painful annoyance," she said, "as you have proven to be to me tonight. You will wear the mark…until I choose to forgive you."   
  
There was a maddeningly devious glint to her eyes that made Rabastan sweat.   
  
"I would recommend that you remain out of my sight whenever possible."   
  
"My Lady," Rabastan muttered, quickly bowing to her before he hurried to the door.   
  
"And Rabastan?"   
  
He stopped in his tracks, looking fearfully back to her. She smiled still.   
  
"If that careless tongue of yours makes mention of Dominic Gavin in my presence again…I will see it ripped from your mouth."    
  
Wraith let Rabastan go, turning slightly to watch him run. He left the door open in his wake and Wraith was amused to see Harper immediately poke his head into the room.   
  
"Has he been dealt with then?" he asked brightly.   
  
"He has," Wraith said, crossing to the doorway, "much to my satisfaction."   
  
"I must say that, even considering the average intelligence of the Death Eaters, that was a rather impressive display of stupidity," Harper said, glancing at Clara behind him as if for confirmation.   
  
Clara was staring at Wraith with rather wide eyes.   
  
"Clare, are you alright?" Wraith asked slowly.   
  
"You're a little scary," Clara admitted, tongue in cheek, "…and that's kind of sexy."   
  
Wraith's laugh rang out like a bell through the hall, joined quickly by the others'.  
  
Harper and Clara both jolted at the sound of a sudden scream coming from somewhere outside the Manor—But Wraith's eyes narrowed in pleasure at the sharp sound.   
  
"He's done it," she whispered, "My dear wolf succeeded."   
  
"In what?" Harper asked, following Wraith's quick steps to the front doors.   
  
"Come and see," Wraith replied. She stepped out onto the front steps of the Manor, with Harper and Clara in her wake as she descended them.   
  
Coming towards the Manor were Rafe and a handful of his wolves, each of them bearing a prisoner. Between Rafe and Bartok was the bedraggled form of Ethan Vaisey. It was he who had screamed so, Wraith knew it from the moment she saw him. She hurried forward as he struggled against his captors in vain.   
  
Rafe saw her and gave her a bloody grin. "My Lady," he said as she approached, "I have brought you gifts from the night's hunt."   
  
"So I see," Wraith said, "Good evening, Bartok. It is good to see you again."   
  
"Lady," the large man said with a nod.   
  
"The wolves among the traitors were dealt with on sight," Rafe explained, "But the wizards and witches we have brought to  _your_  judgment."   
  
"Our Lord will be pleased with the thought," Wraith said. She turned her attention to Vaisey. His eyes were empty, his mind still ensnared by Yaxley's curse, however degraded it had become.   
  
Wraith touched a hand beneath his chin, lifting his face. Vaisey somehow met her eyes and he loosed a fresh scream, struggling again against the wolves' hold.   
  
"That's enough of that," Wraith murmured, silencing him with a thought. "I have this one in hand, my wolf. See the rest to the dungeons."   
  
"As you command, my Lady," Rafe replied. He and Bartok released Vaisey's arms and the young man slumped to the ground.   
  
Wraith stood before him as the wolves and their collective captives moved around them to the Manor. Rafe remained behind, standing beside Wraith as his pack went without him.   
  
"…When we spoke of collars before," Rafe murmured to her, "I was harsh."   
  
"Not without cause," Wraith replied, her eyes still on Vaisey, waiting for him to move.   
  
"Yours fits more comfortably," Rafe told her, "More than I'd like."   
  
Wraith turned her head, meeting Rafe's disquieted gaze. "My wolf," she murmured, reaching up to touch his face. "No matter how comfortably it fits, you will be free of it. I despise chains—it is only necessity that drives me to use them. I am not my Lord."   
  
"You make that clearer everyday," Rafe whispered, touching the hand upon his cheek. "You told me this night that your heart is occupied," he said, his voice barely a whisper at all, "It is not filled with  _him_ , though…is it?"   
  
"No," Wraith said, "Not him."   
  
"You have  a man then, waiting for you."   
  
"Yes," she said.   
  
"I do find myself envying him," Rafe admitted, "I would know you as a woman, if I but could—not as the creature of power you have become."  
  
Wraith looked at him for a long moment. "When the dust has settled on this war, I would be tempted to seek you out—so that you could know that woman."   
  
"You speak falsely," Rafe said, "You are a very good liar, but are, at the moment, distracted and so you slip. You're lying. So either you would not seek me out—or you do not think one—or both—of us will survive to see the dust settle."   
  
"Still your tongue," Wraith told him, dropping her hand, "I have already threatened to rip out another's tonight and I dislike repeating myself." She straightened, looking back down to Vaisey. "You have done me such a great favor tonight, my wolf. I am grateful to you."   
  
Wraith turned to see Harper and Clara standing a distance away. Harper's eyes were locked on Vaisey, a desperate and silent plea visible in them.   
  
"Come," Wraith called to them.   
  
Slowly, the two of them approached. Wraith gestured to Clara, drawing her forward a little.   
  
"Rafe, allow me to introduce my servant, Clara Bauman. Clare, this is Rafe. He is the leader of Britain's only cohesive werewolf pack."   
  
Rafe took Clara's hand lightly in his and bowed over it. "A pleasure to meet such a lovely young thing," he rumbled in his deep voice.   
  
Clara's eyes sparkled at him. "Pleasure's mine," she said, "It always is."   
  
Rafe's grin was wide and teasing and returned by Clara.   
  
"My Lady," Harper said softly, his voice strained.   
  
Wraith touched his shoulder, drawing his eyes away from Vaisey and to her. "For you," she told him, "We'll see him recover and live. I know how much it hurt you to think of him dead."   
  
"If there weren't so many witnesses, I'd kiss you."   
  
Wraith smiled, but before she could reply, Vaisey made a sudden move. He surged up, scrambling away towards the forest. Rafe started after him almost automatically, but he was cut short by Wraith's sharp command.   
  
"No! He is mine."   
  
Without taking a single step towards him, Wraith raised her hand just slightly and stopped Vaisey in his stumbling tracks. The youth fell onto the snow covered ground was still, but for his scream of denial.   
  
"Rafe, go inside," Wraith said firmly, "We will join you presently."   
  
"My Lady," the wolf said, turning to take his leave.   
  
Wraith went to where Vaisey had fallen and knelt down, taking his head into her lap. Harper went down on one knee at his side, though Clara remained standing behind Wraith, her eyes keeping watch for anyone who might approach from the Manor.   
  
Vaisey cried out again, his anguish clear.   
  
"Shh," Wraith coaxed him gently, "You are safe, Ethan Vaisey."   
  
Reaching into his mind, Wraith brushed away the cobwebs of Yaxley's tattered spell. Giving Vaisey his mind back in full, though she kept him bound still. Vaisey let out a sob as his eyes cleared. The first thing he saw was Wraith's face above his. A deep measure of hatred filled his eyes and Wraith did not begrudge him of it.   
  
"There you are," she murmured, running a gentle hand over his fevered brow, "Good to know you're still with us."   
  
"Bitch," Vaisey spat at her, his voice weak and strained, "Demon."   
  
"You aren't telling me anything that I don't already know about myself," Wraith said brightly.   
  
"Why don't you just kill me?" he said sharply, "That's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?"   
  
"There's been a change of plans," Wraith told him, leaning down so as to whispered, "…and a change of heart. I'm not going to kill you, Ethan. Your life doesn't belong to me. I've given it to Antony."   
  
For the first time, Vaisey seemed to realize that they were not alone. His eyes found Harper's. "…Tony?" he whispered.   
  
"Been a while, huh?" Harper said with false levity. "How've you been, Ethan?"   
  
"Swell," Vaisey replied.   
  
"Liar," Harper said around a weak smile.   
  
"So…what happens now?" Vaisey asked him as though dreading the answer.   
  
"Now you get better," Harper told him, "We'll get you back on your feet. So much has changed, Ethan. You wouldn't believe how much. Look." Harper pulled back his sleeve to show his friend the unmarred skin of his arm. "She's freed me of him."   
  
"Why?" Vaisey asked his eyes going to Wraith.   
  
"In order to free myself when the time comes," Wraith told him. "You will have to play the part of prisoner still, but for much longer."   
  
"I don't understand."   
  
"You will, in time," Wraith assured him. "I am sorry for your suffering. You've been too long chained."   
  
"I should be dead," Vaisey said, "If you hadn't hesitated that night, the Dark Lord wouldn't have had time to change his mind. I'd have been free."   
  
"So, I am condemned not only for killing—but for not. Hm, whatever shall I do with that particular contradiction?"   
  
"Don't you think we should get him inside?" Clara asked, coming to stand at Wraith's shoulder.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said at once. She brushed her hand over Vaisey's eyes and they suddenly closed with sleep. "Harper, Clara—see him to the dungeons. He will sleep until we have the chance to speak privately." She stood, brushing snow from her legs. "—I must see that the Dark Lord does not concern himself with our business."    
  
  
  
  
Sensing her presence below, Voldemort descended the stairs from his private room to his tower. Wraith was seated in his chair behind the desk, an indulgent smile upon her face.   
  
"My Lord," she greeted him, "You've missed all the excitement."   
  
"Have I?" he asked, coming to stand before her. He gave her a look and she stood, smoothly stepping aside so that he could take his chair. As soon as he was settled, she took hold of the back of the chair and swung around to straddle him his lap. The briefest surprise showed on his face , but it was quickly replaced by curious pleasure. "You are of a mood, pet," Voldemort commented, slipping his hands over the slight curve of her hips.   
  
"Our hunt was most successful," she told him, curling one hand around the back of his neck, "and our wolf has brought us gifts from it."   
  
"I don't suppose that these gifts include Talbot or his brat?"   
  
"Hm, I'm afraid neither were present," Wraith replied smoothly, "But we've a fresh batch of prisoners just waiting to have their minds raked through. Rafe and his pack made quick work of the werewolves among the traitors, but the rest have been brought to us."   
  
"Fine gifts indeed," Voldemort said, "Considering that it was your hand that led the wolves to them."   
  
"I merely showed the way," Wraith said, "It was the wolves who fought and bleed to bring them down."   
  
Voldemort slipped his hands under Wraith's shirt, finding purchase of bare skin. "Would that I always have you," he murmured, while his hands drifted higher still, "to show the way." His touch only brushed over Wraith's breasts, making her breath catch, before he took his hands from under her shirt again. "Interesting attire you've chosen," the Dark Lord said.   
  
"But more practical for hunting than my usual garb," Wraith countered. A slow and wicked smile came to her face. "If they displease you, I'd be quite happy to take them off."   
  
It pleased her to see the touch of dark humor in Voldemort's eye. He sat back and gestured silently for her to proceed. Wraith smiled still as she lifted the shirt up over her head and let it fall to the floor. Voldemort did not immediately reach for her, instead he touched one hand to her collarbone and let it drift slowly down in a gentle caress.   
  
"You've done well tonight, my Lady," he told her, his voice dark with pleasure, "as have the wolves."   
  
"Rafe seems quite eager to please us," Wraith said, her eyes fluttering shut at his soft touch.   
  
Voldemort's hand curled into her hair and he gripped it tight, pulling her head slightly to the side. She hissed, but did not fight his hold.   
  
"Rafe is eager to please  _you_ ," Voldemort corrected her.   
  
"And you complain?" Wraith asked, "The results are the same—if not better," she added with a wry smirk.   
  
Voldemort's mouth twisted into something akin to a smile and he pulled her close, crushing his mouth to hers. He released his hold of her hair to run his hands down her bare back. Wraith felt her blood sing, as he took his mouth down the curve of her neck.   
  
"Do the wolves still wait downstairs?" Voldemort asked, his mouth hovering over her skin.   
  
"Yes," Wraith replied, tracing her fingernails down his neck, making him shiver.   
  
"Ah, then perhaps we should delay this," he said.   
  
"No," Wraith countered, taking his face in her hands, "Then we should be quick—and savor further pleasure later."   
  
"As my Lady commands," Voldemort said slowly.   
  
He lifted her up, standing from his chair and carrying her to the desk. Wraith lay back upon the hard surface, pulling him down on top of her. Her teeth found his neck as her hands slipped under the collar of his robes to his shoulders. Voldemort let out a hissing breath and retaliated, closing his mouth over her breast. Wraith felt the sting of pain and pleasure both and found herself craving more.   
  
Here in the moment, consumed with her scheming and far from the memory of Edwin's touch, Wraith took dark gratification in being the Dark Lord's lover—even as she plotted behind his back. Guilty as she would feel later, she would enjoy him now.   
  
Voldemort brought his mouth back to hers, reaching down to undo her trousers. Lips, teeth, and tongue intertwined until his hand slipped under cloth to touch her. Wraith's gasp of pleasure was louder than she intended, but it spurred the Dark Lord on. He rested his other hand just beside Wraith's head and loomed over her.   
  
"Open your eyes," he told her. Wraith did so, locking her gaze with his. "My Wraith," Voldemort murmured, enjoying the way her eyes clouded. "You spoke well, months ago—a power that I can hold…that I can touch…"   
  
Wraith's breath quickened and her head fell back as she fought not to cry out. "Power does call to power," she gasped, digging her nails into his shoulders, "With our powers together, you and I could bring the world to its knees," she told him, pulling him down to take his mouth with hers.   
  
"And we shall," Voldemort told her, "but for now I will settle with bringing you to yours."   
  
Wraith writhed as his touch became ardent and small cries spilled from her lips. But before her pleasure peaked, Wraith cursed fervently, making Voldemort pause. " _Shit_ ," she muttered, "Our wolf approaches. He's on the stairs."   
  
Voldemort cast a very dark look to the door and he stood straight. Wraith took a moment longer before she sat up. She buttoned her trousers again, but didn't bother to retrieve her shirt. She remained sitting on the edge of the desk, her back to the door, even when Rafe knocked upon it. Voldemort looked to his Wraith, his eyes sweeping over her bare chest.   
  
Wraith smiled sweetly at him, honeyed poison at its best, and she pulled her hair forward over her shoulders, using it to cover herself. "Open the door," she insisted, "and we'll send our wolf on his way."   
  
Voldemort smiled just slightly and he walked around to stand to the side of the desk. Wraith turned only slightly to look over her shoulder at the door.   
  
"Enter," Voldemort said shortly.   
  
Rafe stepped through the door, his dark eyes taking in the sight of the smooth curve of Wraith's back. "My Lord," he said, "My Lady. I sincerely apologize for the interruption."   
  
"As well you should," Wraith said dryly, "Your timing is atrocious. Be quick, my wolf."   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Rafe said, bowing his head slightly, "My Lord, the prisoners are settled below. Your men, Lestrange and Harper, have them in hand. I can return tomorrow morning and give a more detailed report at your convenience."   
  
"Do so," Voldemort said, "You are done well this night, Rafe. You have our gratitude. Now, take your leave."   
  
"At once, my Lord," Rafe replied, bowing deeper to him. "My Lady."   
  
"My thanks, dear wolf," Wraith told him with a wry smile.   
  
He returned the smile before he stepped back out, shutting the door firmly behind him.   
  
When he was gone, Wraith looked to Voldemort. She raised an eyebrow at him and her smile went soft and dark. In a flash, she reached for him, pulling him back to her with fervent touch.


	76. Price of Power

_"There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife."_  
  
  
  
  
The next morning, Wraith slipped silently from the Dark Lord's bed as the sun touched the sky. They had slept but a little, both spurred by the night's victory. For a moment, as she pulled on a robe, Wraith considered waiting for Voldemort to wake.   
  
Tempted by the thought, knowing how he enjoyed waking with her beside him, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached to caress his face with a gentle hand. He stirred at the touch and his eyes opened just slightly.   
  
"Good morning, my Lord," she murmured, smiling.   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort said, "Do you wake me for a purpose?"   
  
"I didn't wish you to wake without me," she replied, "I was going to seek a bath and then my own room."   
  
"Then do so," he told her, sitting up, "It is just as well, we do expect our wolf to return this morning. Nonetheless…" he added, his voice trailing off.   
  
Wraith laughed when he suddenly pulled her back into the bed, pinning her down beneath him. His hands slipped under her robe and Wraith let out a breath.   
  
"You, my Lord, are insatiable," she accused lightly.   
  
A slow smile came to Voldemort's face as he dipped his head down to taste her skin. Wraith enfolded her legs around his waist, pulling him in closer.   
  
"You are never satisfied," she murmured, her hand drifting down his chest, his stomach. "What are a pair we are…" she spoke softly as he lifted his eyes to hers and Wraith's smile was sharp and merciless. "…For neither I am."   
  
  
  
  
When Wraith eventually returned to the sanctuary of her own tower, she was surprised to see that Clara was wide awake. The older girl was seated on the floor in front of Wraith's wardrobe. There were several dresses laid out on the floor around her and Clara had a sketchbook open in her lap.   
  
"I was beginning to think you'd never appear," Clara said, looking up with a smile.   
  
"Yes well, I was a bit held up," Wraith admitted with a sly smile of her own. She knelt on the floor next to Clara, being careful of the dresses, and glanced at the page of the sketchbook. "What are you working on?"   
  
"Oh, I was just working out a few ideas for dresses," Clara said, "It's actually a hobby of mine. It's kind of fun to have to chance to really _create_  them." She reached out to touch one of the dresses she'd pulled out. "I really like this one. Did you make it?"   
  
Wraith recognized the dress as one she'd worn to Gringotts, the strapless black with the heavy hem of coins; gold, silver, and bronze. "Yes," she said, "I've only worn it once though."   
  
"It's gorgeous," Clara told her, "But I was wondering if you'd let me play with it."   
  
"How do you mean?"   
  
"I'd like to make it one of your 'official' dresses," Clara said, "It's certainly lovely and dark with the black, but imagine how striking it would be white."   
  
"Hm," Wraith murmured, tilting her head to one side as she studied the dress.   
  
"Also," Clara continued, taking out her wand, "Check this out." She touched the tip of her wand to the coin hem, removing a coin of each metal. She held the coins in one hand and transmuted them. After a moment, she was holding a choker of three braided chains of gold, silver, and bronze. "Try it on," she insisted, holding out the choker to Wraith.   
  
Amused and a little impressed, Wraith took the chains and slipped them around her neck. She liked the weight of it, just at the hollow of her throat. Wraith stood, going to the mirror to look at it. "It's lovely," she said, looking back to Clara, "You're good at this."   
  
"Isn't that why I'm here?" Clara asked with an impish smirk.   
  
"Well, one of the reasons," Wraith replied with a crooked grin. She unhooked the choker and handed it back to Clara. "Where is Harper?" she asked, "Doesn't he usually keep you company?"   
  
"I'd be willing to bet he's still sleeping," Clara said, "He was up most of the night with Vaisey, didn't want to leave him down there."   
  
"Ah," Wraith murmured, berating herself for not thinking of that.   
  
"He'll be along," Clara assured her.   
  
Wraith sighed, running a hand through her rather tangled hair. "I'm going to take a bath," she said, "a very  _long_  one."   
  
Clara's smile was rather knowing, "You want some tea when you come back?"   
  
"That would wonderful," Wraith said. She leaned over to kiss the top of Clara's head. "Thank you, Clare."   
  
It was almost an hour later when Wraith returned to her tower, wrapped in her robe and her hair still damp. She sank down onto the couch with a grateful sigh, leaning back and closing her eyes.   
  
"Didn't get enough sleep last night?" Clara asked from the floor.   
  
"Ha," was Wraith's muttered reply.   
  
Clara giggled and stood up, crossing to the little table in front of the couch. She poured a cup of tea and offered it to Wraith. She took it with a murmured thank you, closing her eyes again. Clara titled her head and then went to the vanity table, grabbing the hairbrush. "Scoot over," she told Wraith, gesturing with the brush.   
  
Wraith blinked and then did as told. Clara sat beside her and took hold of Wraith's shoulders, turning her slightly so that she faced away. Wraith sighed when she felt Clara run the brush gently through her long hair. She sat perfectly still, recalling fondly the times that Janesch had done the very same thing for her.   
  
"I used to do this all the time for Aly," Clara said, "Back when we were in school. She had hair almost as long as yours back then. It wasn't until after we left Hogwarts that she chopped it so short."   
  
"This is very nice of you, Clare," Wraith murmured.   
  
"I like to do it," Clara replied simply, "God, your hair is so gorgeous. I've never seen such a deep black before, not one that was natural anyway. You've haven't enchanted it to look like this, have you?" she asked teasingly.   
  
"No," Wraith said with a smile, "I was born with it."   
  
"You're a creature of contrasts, you know that?" Clara said, "The dark hair, the pale skin and eyes. Your parents must have looked like polar opposites."   
  
"I didn't have parents, Clare," Wraith said softly, "It was the Dark Lord who made me. No mother, no father."   
  
Clara paused in her brushing. "When you say he 'made' you…what do you mean?"   
  
"He created me with some sort of spell," Wraith replied, "I don't know what it involved."   
  
"Have you asked?"   
  
"Not outright," Wraith admitted, "But he wouldn't tell me if I did. He keeps a great deal from me."   
  
"Obviously," Clara agreed, "But that's part of the reason you're still here, isn't it?"   
  
"Part," Wraith said, her tone dark.   
  
Clara giggled again, but there was a nervous tone to it. She leaned forward, resting her forehead on Wraith's shoulder. Wraith turned her head slightly so that her cheek brushed Clara's hair.   
  
"Clare, are you alright?"   
  
"Do you want me to tell you about Edwin?"   
  
Wraith felt a shudder pass through her, a physical reaction to an emotional pain. "Yes," she whispered, "but speak softly."   
  
"After that safe-house fell, he and Aly came to  _La Magia_  for help. Ms. Roz found the Order new places to hide and they've scattered again, waiting for another chance, plotting. But Edwin and Aly stayed a bit longer than the others, they stayed with me. I had Aly back…but it wasn't safe for them to stay and it wasn't safe for me to go with them."   
  
"Where are they now? Are they together? Are they safe?"   
  
"They are," Clara said, "They're in London. You miss him."   
  
"The word doesn't seem enough to describe what I feel," Wraith murmured, "But yes, simply put, I miss him."   
  
Clara kissed Wraith's cheek and went back to brushing her hair. "Cheer up,  _my Lady_ ," she said, her voice bright again, "It isn't as though you're not going to see him again."   
  
Wraith felt herself smile and she closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the brush through her hair.   
  
The moment of peace was brief, however, and was broken by the tower door opening suddenly. Clara let out a squeak, jumping slightly in her seat.   
  
Wraith simply turned her head, not surprised at all to see the Dark Lord in the doorway. "My Lord," she said evenly.   
  
Voldemort said nothing, turning a scathing glare to Clara. Wraith smirked and turned so that she was facing him.   
  
"Leave us," she told Clara.   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Clara said, an edge of gratitude in her voice. She stood up, shaking only slightly as she bowed to Wraith and then to Voldemort, slipping past him out the door. Voldemort closed the door behind her, never taking his eyes from Wraith.   
  
"My Lord, you seem disturbed," Wraith commented, "What ever has gotten under your skin?"  
  
"Why is Vaisey alive?" Voldemort demanded.   
  
"Two reasons," Wraith replied, standing, "The first is my Harper. However traitorous Vaisey turned out to be, the two were very close friends once. I've given Vaisey to him as a gift for his loyalty to me."   
  
"You step beyond your place, my Wraith," Voldemort said slowly, "I gave orders for you to kill Vaisey."   
  
"And then you retracted them," Wraith reminded him, "in favor of more prudent plans to use him as your puppet and spy."   
  
"Do not twist my words,  _pet_ ," Voldemort warned her.   
  
"Well, you do a marvelous job of that yourself," Wraith retorted, "I don't suppose it's fair of me to take your fun."   
  
" _Wraith_."   
  
"You could at least wait to hear the second reason before you punish me, my Lord," she said, raising an eyebrow.   
  
Voldemort paused, disliking her knowing smirk and the glow of mischief in her eyes. "Speak it then," he told her.   
  
"I thought I'd take the opportunity to practice my art," Wraith said, shrugging, "More specifically, my art of Legilimency. I had a notion to use Vaisey as my guinea pig. To take his mind in my hands and shift out any useful information he gathered while under Yaxley's tattered spell that our dear Minister might have missed. And by the time I have finished with the boy, no doubt my Harper will see his death as anything but a  _mercy_."   
  
The last word was spoken with such deep disdain and mockery that Voldemort felt himself smile. "My dear Wraith," he started to say.   
  
"You underestimated me again, didn't you?"   
  
"I will admit," Voldemort said, "It seems that I did. But why did you not tell me this last night?"   
  
"You distracted me," she replied sweetly.   
  
"And you are lying."   
  
"Only a little," Wraith said, her sweet tone giving way to dry wit.   
  
"Very well then," Voldemort said, "Keep your guinea pig and placate your Harper."   
  
"You are too good to me, my Lord."   
  
"I know."   
  
  
  
  
Time seemed to pass easily enough and Wraith fell into new habits with Clara and Harper. More often than not, both would be waiting for her when she returned to her tower in the morning. Their company was comforting after time spent with the Dark Lord. They helped to keep her relationship with Voldemort in perspective for her.   
  
But all the same, Wraith found herself enjoying the power of it. It was a dark and gratifying pleasure that she seemed to feed upon. Wraith supped on power like a lion upon a fresh kill. Wraith realized that if not for Edwin, she might have succumbed quite easily to this power and truly accepted her role as the Dark Lord's Lady Death. But with Edwin ever at the back of her mind, she kept a grip on her heart and thus kept it out of Voldemort's reach.   
  
Nights may have belonged to the Dark Lord, but Wraith spent her days with her companions. Harper and Clara had clearly become fast friends, their humor running along the same track, and they kept Wraith laughing often.   
  
Harper spent a great deal of time in the dungeons, tending to the recovering Vaisey, but Wraith kept her visits to a minimum. She was already an oddity to many of the prisoners below—she did not need them to become suspicious as to her true allegiance. The two Weasleys already knew too much about her, with the way she had protected Bill's family.   
  
A little over two weeks since Clara's arrival at the Manor, the Dark Lord appeared at Wraith's tower door. Clara paled slightly at the sight of him, but Harper—well practiced by that time—stood at once to bow to him.   
  
Wraith looked over from her place at the window and gave her Lord a poisoned smile. "Good evening, my Lord."  
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort replied, inclining his head to her.   
  
"Shall I dismiss my servants?" she asked him.   
  
"A tempting thought, but unnecessary," Voldemort said, surprising his Wraith slightly. "We've business to attend to. In a few hours, Rodolphus and Rabastan will be arriving with a new batch of recruits. It's time to swell the ranks again—we lost far too many in the werewolves' attack last month."   
  
"Agreed," Wraith said. Then her smile widened into a wicked grin. "I take it that I will be wearing  _white_  this evening."   
  
"You will," Voldemort said, sharing her smile, "It will not do to make the same mistake as last time, my Wraith. Tonight, I'd like you to examine the minds of these recruits, see if there is anything important that they are hiding."   
  
"Do I also have your permission to weed out the inferior?" Wraith asked.  
  
"Of course," Voldemort said, "I rather enjoyed your little speech the last time. And it did make an impression, did it not Harper?"   
  
"Most certainly, Dark Lord," Harper said, surprised that he had been spoken to.   
  
"A few hours then?" Wraith asked.   
  
"Yes," Voldemort said, "Be ready."   
  
"Oh, I'll be more than ready," Wraith assured him, "I'll be frightening."   
  
  
  
  
Utterly silent as they walked, the Lestrange brothers led a line of cloaked and hooded people up the staircase in the entrance hall and through the darkened halls of the Manor. One could almost smell the fear emanating off of some of the poor souls looking to join the ranks of the Death Eaters.   
  
They were taken to a large and nearly empty room on the third floor. There was a huge and ornate fireplace that dominated one side of the room, the mantle black as pitch and intricately carved with serpents. A fire roared within it, casting a good amount of light over the recruits.   
  
At the far end of the room stood a throne-like chair that seemed carved to match the fireplace. It took a few moments before any of the recruits realized that someone was sitting in it. A young woman stifled a gasp when she saw the red eyes staring at them from the shadows.   
  
Slowly, as each person came to realize the Dark Lord's presence, their fear became almost tangible. With silent instruction from the Lestrange brothers, they lined up in front of the mantle, facing him. Rodolphus and Rabastan then walked across the room to stand on either side of the Dark Lord.   
  
"Welcome," Voldemort told them, and though he spoke softly everyone heard him clearly, "I admire the courage you must have that led you to come this far. But—before any of you are chosen to bear my Mark, there is a gauntlet you must first face. The best—or worst—of my supporters—depending on which side you stand."   
  
The doors opened once again and all eyes turned to it. Wraith stepped slowly into the room, her eyes focused sharply upon the line of people before the fireplace. There were several muffled gasps from the line, quickly suppressed.   
  
The Dark Lord's Lady Death was in fine form that night. Clara had done well with the coin-hemmed dress, transmuting the black color to a pure white. The hem of coins had been expanded, they now began just below Wraith's knees and chimed like bells as she walked. Wraith's pitch black hair had been drawn away from her face, only to fall freely down her back. Around her neck she wore the tricolored chains Clara had fashioned for her. Her eyes were etched deeply with black, drawing attention to both their pale color and odd broken quality. She was striking and fearsome in the same breath.   
  
The smallest of smirks twisted Wraith's lips as she took in their fear and she looked to Voldemort. The Dark Lord inclined his head to her, giving unspoken permission. Wraith's smirk widened and she approached the line, tilting her head to one side as she walked along them. At the end of the line, she reached up and pulled down the recruit's hood, revealing his face. He was older than her, but still quite young. Wraith gave the rest a sharp look and everyone quickly lowered their hoods so that the Wraith could see their faces. Again, she walked down the line, taking in each face.   
  
"So," she murmured, "You seek to serve the Dark Lord. A fine vocation—but not one for the faint of heart…nor the feeble of mind. Our Lord has given command that I weigh and measure your worth before you join our honored brotherhood."   
  
She came to a halt before one recruit and raised a single brow. She knew him.   
  
"Hello, Blaise," she said sweetly, her smile wide and feral.   
  
Blaise Zabini swallowed audibly, but somehow managed to keep his haughty expression in place as he bowed his head.   
  
"My, it's been some time, hasn't it?" Wraith asked him. She began to circle him, those to the side of him shying away, and he had to fight to remain still. "More than two years since we met, closer to two and a half really. Oh, things have changed in that time, have they not? Strange though," she said, coming to stand in front of him again, "You stand before me now…and I still see a boy."   
  
The insult cut him, it showed only briefly on his face before he schooled himself.   
  
"Speak," Wraith commanded.   
  
Zabini met her eyes for a moment. "My Lady," he spoke softly.  
  
"Why are you here, Blaise?" she asked him.   
  
"T-to serve the Dark Lord," he replied, his tone betraying confusion.   
  
"Why?" Wraith pressed.   
  
"To give strength to his purpose," Blaise said, "To put Muggles and Mudbloods in their place, beneath us."   
  
"Blaise," Wraith said, giving him a poisoned smile, "why are you  _really_  here?"   
  
Zabini looked lost at the question. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Wraith stood before him, ever patient. "..For the power…and the prestige that can gained by serving him," Zabini finally said.   
  
"There we are," Wraith said condescendingly, "Was that so difficult?" She turned away from him and addressed the rest. "Blaise Zabini speaks truly—There is much to be gained in serving our Lord. But to have it—you must  _earn_  it."   
  
Wraith paused again, halfway down the line before a young woman. She blinked and then smiled very slowly. "What is your name, sweetheart?"   
  
The woman paled, shaking slightly. "M-Mary."   
  
"Mary," Wraith repeated, a touch of incredulity in her voice, "Are you afraid of me, Mary?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Ah," Wraith said, "An honest answer. How very refreshing. They are so very rare to hear, with the company I keep." She glanced over her shoulder with a cheshire grin, "No offense meant, my Lord."   
  
"None taken, my Lady," Voldemort replied, amused.   
  
Wraith turned and crossed the room to circle around back the Dark Lord's chair. She slid a pale hand down his arm, leaning over beside him, her eyes upon the recruits.   
  
"Fear will serve you—if it does not conquer you first. I am far from your only test, children. Your bravery, your usefulness, even your loyalty will be tested each and every day you serve our Lord." Her eyes fell upon the woman Mary once more before she looked again to Zabini. "This is no place for the innocent."   
  
Zabini knew she was speaking directly to him, taunting him even, and he dared to step forward. "You doubt me," he spat.   
  
"I do not doubt, Blaise," Wraith replied, striding back to meet him, "I  _know_. You do not fully comprehend what it is you ask to be a part of." Again, she circled him, running her fingertips along the back of his shoulders as she went, making him shake. "We are more than just a world of shadow and secrets, Blaise Zabini. We are a world of blood and of death. You will be commanded to hunt, to torture, and to kill for our Lord. Your hands are yet unstained by blood."   
  
She came to a stop in front of him and reached out to take hold of his chin, making him look down directly into her eyes. "You can hide nothing from me. I can see in your mind that you haven't the nerve to do all that is necessary in our Lord's name." She gave him a knife-edge smile and tilted her head up. "…You haven't the balls."   
  
Zabini's face contorted with rage and unthinking, he raised an arm as if to hit her. With a effortless gesture, Wraith stepped to the side and sent Zabini skidding along the floor.   
  
The room held its breath as the young man lifted himself up slightly.   
  
Wraith placed her hands on her hips and crossed to where he lay. "Your temper is going to get you killed, Blaise," she told him.   
  
Zabini stared up at her with wide eyes.   
  
Wraith sighed, rather tiredly. "Run home to your mummy, little boy. The Dark Lord has no use for one such as you."   
  
When he didn't move, Wraith clicked a heel on the floor, sending a wave of sparks towards him. Zabini scrambled up, edging quickly to the door. Wraith gestured for him to hurry along and in a moment he was gone.   
  
Slowly, Wraith turned to the rest. "If you have any reservations, any self-doubts at all…then I suggest that you take this one opportunity to change your mind. After this moment," she said, her voice going soft, "there is turning back." She met each of their eyes in turn. "Once you bear the Mark—you belong to us."   
  
It took a long and silent moment before two men broke away from the line. Wraith nodded to them and gestured to the door. As they were leaving, another joined them, and then the young woman that Wraith had stopped to speak with.   
  
Once they were gone, Wraith glanced to the Dark Lord. "They are ready to serve, my Lord."   
  
"Excellent," Voldemort said, "Come forward then and receive the Mark."   
  
Wraith stepped back until once again she stood at his side.   
  
  
  
  
The inhabitants of Grimmauld Place tensed at the unexpected sound of the front door opening. They both reached for their wands and moved silently to the hall, just as the ghostly figure of Albus Dumbledore exploded into dust. As the dust cleared, they saw the intruder clearly.   
  
"Hermione!" Ron said, rushing forward, "Are you okay? What happened?"   
  
"We weren't expecting you back so soon," Harry said, "Did something go wrong?"   
  
"I couldn't do it," Hermione told them, striding down the hall, "All those weeks to change my appearance, build a false persona, instigate myself among You-Know-Who's supporters—and I  _choke_  the moment I'm face to face with  _her_!"   
  
Hermione sounded very shaken, frightened, and yet furious with herself as well.   
  
"The Wraith," Harry said, as he and Ron followed her into the living room.   
  
"Yes," Hermione replied crossly. "I swear to you—I don't know how—but somehow I think she  _knew_."  
  
"Ooh, clever girl."   
  
The trio froze, their eyes turning to the threadbare couch. Stretched out upon it was the Wraith herself, still dressed in white—with the Sword of Gryffindor in her hands.   
  
Wraith wasn't even looking at them, her eyes were examining the sword she held. "This truly is a remarkable sword—The goblins know their craft like no other." She turned her wrist and the tip of the sword now pointed directly at Hermione. "For someone who is supposedly the 'brightest witch of her age'…that was an incredibly  _stupid_  thing to do."   
  
Wraith sat up and thrust the point of the sword into the floor, standing as she did so. Ron took a step forward, putting Hermione slightly behind him. Wraith saw this, but her only response was to smile amusedly.   
  
"How did you know?" Hermione demanded.   
  
Wraith turned sharp eyes to her. "I taste magic like a scent on the air. And if I've faced you before, I know the particular  _taste_  of your magic. I knew you were in that room before I walked in. Though, admittedly, it took me a moment to figure out which one you were— _Mary_."   
  
Harry stepped to stand beside Ron, pushing Hermione back a bit more. "If you knew who she was—why didn't you expose her?"  
  
Wraith's smile was slow and sharp. "Now, where would be the fun in that?"  
  
"You think this is some sort of game?" Harry demanded. He willed himself to stay still, even with the burning desire he had to wring this strange creature's neck.  
  
But Wraith's smile had dropped away at the sharp question and her eyes narrowed. "Don't you?" she asked in turn.   
  
"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked. She didn't bother to ask how the Wraith had found them.   
  
"To deliver a warning," Wraith replied, her tone lighter again. "You caught me in a good mood, Granger. But if you attempt something like that again, I  _will_  expose you…and leave you to his mercy."  
  
"I still don't understand why you didn't tonight," Hermione said.  
  
"And you never will," Wraith said sweetly, "I see no reason for you to understand the inner workings of my mind. You'd get lost in all the twists and turns."   
  
"The Locket."   
  
Wraith's eyes went to Harry's and she tilted her head to one side. "You don't think I was silly enough to bring it with me, do you?"  
  
"We  _will_  find it," Harry told her softly.   
  
"I believe you," Wraith replied, just as quietly, "But not yet, Chosen One."  
  
"You gave us your warning," Ron said brusquely, "Now go."  
  
"No," Wraith said simply, not looking away from Harry, "I've just realized I did you quite a favor tonight. I want exchange."  
  
"What do you want?" Harry asked.  
  
"A few minutes alone to speak with you," she replied.   
  
"Not going to happen," Ron said, but Harry held up a hand to stop him.  
  
"Ron's got a point," Harry said to Wraith.  
  
"So I see," Wraith said with a small smile, "I swear by my power, I will not harm you, nor use my magic on you at all. A few minutes, Chosen One, that's all I ask."  
  
"Fine," he said.   
  
"Harry, no," Hermione said quickly.  
  
"Just wait in the kitchen, both of you," Harry told her. "I'll be fine." When neither of his friends moved, he looked between them in exasperation. "Come on, it's not like she can't kill me where I stand while you're in the room with me."   
  
Ron looked to Wraith, who was waiting patiently. "There's not much point to this whole secrecy thing. He'll tell us whatever you had to say to him alone."  
  
"That'll be up to him," Wraith said, her smile widening. "I'll not bind him to silence. Now, the night grows thin and I will be missed. I'd rather not have to answer any uncomfortable questions so…leave."  
  
Hermione reached for Ron's hand and though he resisted a moment longer, she was able to pull him out of the room, closing the door behind them. Harry and Wraith watched them go—and then turned to face each other.  
  
Again, Wraith tilted her head, studying him. Harry stood completely still as she crossed to him and began to circle around him. Wraith came around to face him again and a wicked grin twisted her lips.   
  
"Ah, he  _blushes_ ," she murmured. "I suppose that Voldemort hasn't been careful enough in keeping his mind closed to you."   
  
Harry blush deepened and then he blinked, realizing exactly what she had said. "You said his name," he said, "I've never heard one of his Death Eaters dare."  
  
"Be a bit silly not to be able to say your lover's name, don't you think?" Wraith asked, cocking an eyebrow.  
  
Harry scowled. "You can't be human," he muttered.  
  
Something flashed in her strange eyes, but too quickly for Harry to read it. "I suppose not," she murmured, "But how much more human could _you_  be?" she demanded, putting her palm upon his shoulder and pushing him back against the wall, "—With him writhing in your head like a snake?"   
  
Harry wanted to push her away, to make her leave, but he had no idea how. He hated having her this close—it made him feel ill and uncomfortable, knowing what he knew.  
  
Wraith ignored his silence, her eyes drifting up to the scar on his forehead. "I think I've figured out what it is about you that gets under my skin," she said, "I can  _feel_  him in you, the ghost of his presence around you always."   
  
"And that makes you dislike me?" Harry demanded, caught off guard.  
  
Wraith smirked. "We've a complicated relationship, him and I. Actually, 'complicated' doesn't quite cover it."  
  
"Yeah, I can see that," Harry said. "Why don't you just kill me? Or capture me and take me to him? What game are you playing?"  
  
"It really doesn't matter what game I'm playing," Wraith told him, "All that matters is that I'm not playing  _his_. I play by older rules than he does. And that includes having respect for one's enemies."  
  
"Great, you  _respect_  me," Harry said scathingly, "Thanks."  
  
Wraith actually laughed, startling him.   
  
"You are so good it almost breaks the heart," she said softly, "Down to the core of your soul, you're a good man. He could whisper in your mind's ear for all eternity and never be able to touch you. A pity I haven't your good soul."  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry asked. He really didn't understand—she looked…almost  _sad_.  
  
"He is in both our heads, Chosen One," Wraith told him, smiling gently as brushed fingertips along his cheek, "Quite the parasite…is he not?"  
  
Harry had no reply, but Wraith didn't seem to expect one. She smiled patronizingly and patted him on the cheek before she stepped away from him. Harry blinked when he realized she was leaving. "Wait," he said, holding out a hand.   
  
Wraith turned back to him, curiously.   
  
"Arthur and Bill Weasley," Harry began, but Wraith held up a hand to stop him. She didn't need to hear the question—she already knew what it was.  
  
"They're still alive," she told him. She shook her head as if amazed. "And that you ask about them proves my earlier point. You're a good man, Chosen One. That's why he favored you."  
  
"Why  _who_  favored me?" Harry asked, confused.  
  
"Albus."  
  
Harry's face went stone-still. "How do you know? Dumbledore's dead."  
  
"Yes. Yes, he is. Think about it," Wraith said maddeningly.   
  
Before Harry could stop her a second time, she had vanished.


	77. Prudent Planning

_And since you know you cannot see yourself,  
so well as by reflection, I, your glass,  
will modestly discover to yourself,  
that of yourself which you yet know not of._  
  
  
  
  
Harry stood silent for a moment longer. His eyes fell to the sword Wraith had thrust into the floor.   
  
"Harry?"   
  
"She's gone," he called, turning to see Ron at the door.   
  
"Well, what the bloody hell did she want?" his friend demanded.   
  
"I don't know," Harry replied, "Maybe just to get under my skin. Where's Hermione?"   
  
"She went to guard the front door," Ron said, "You know, in case the Wraith was only a distraction. Harry, you alright?"   
  
 _"This truly is a remarkable sword—The goblins know their craft like no other."_  
  
"Yeah," Harry said. He took hold of the sword's hilt and pulled it free. "I'm fine. Go get Hermione. We need to plan our next move."   
  
"Which is?"   
  
"We can't get to the locket, so we focus on finding the others."   
  
"Harry, we've been over every place we could think of!" Ron said, "Where else could we possibly look?"   
  
"I have an idea," Harry told him, holding up the sword.   
  
  
  
  
A week passed and Wraith indulged herself by playing on the fears of the new recruits. She had already found a number of them that, like Harper and Rafe, seemed more inclined to her games than those of the Dark Lord. Clara and Harper were proving to be valuable assets in finding them as well. The two would spent time among the Death Eaters, who would tell them things that would otherwise never reach Wraith's ears.   
  
"Evison's striking me a decent man," Clara told Wraith one night, "Definitely has a prejudice against Muggle-borns, but he joined up to keep his family safe or something like that. He's hiding something big, I got that much."   
  
"His youngest daughter is married to a Muggle-born," Wraith said, "He's afraid that she'll be hurt if they ever come for her husband."   
  
Clara blinked. "You already knew this?"   
  
"Yes," Wraith admitted, "But I needed a better read on the man, which you have so given me."   
  
Clara made a face, but she glowed at the praise.   
  
They both looked up as Harper entered the tower room, looking a little worn around the edges.   
  
"How is Vaisey?" Wraith asked him.   
  
"Getting better," Harper said, "But he…he's not quite right in the head, exactly."   
  
"An effect of the curse used long-term," Wraith said, "I've seen it in others."   
  
"Our former Minister of Magic, you mean," Harper said, sitting on the low table in front of the couch.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said softly. She knew that wouldn't make Harper feel any better. Thickness was as mad as a hatter. It was only Wraith's spell of sleep that kept the man from screaming himself to death. "Vaisey wasn't under as long as Thickness was, Antony," Wraith said, "Give it time. He's safe."   
  
Harper nodded, but said nothing.   
  
Wraith looked away, hating the weight that her Harper bore. "The Dark Lord is away from the Manor this evening," she said, smiling slightly, "Perhaps it's time I paid a visit downstairs again."   
  
"Maybe not," Harper said slowly, "Bill Weasley has been asking questions about you."   
  
"Let him ask," Wraith replied evenly, "He'll get no answers."   
  
"Still, you shouldn't take risks over something so small," Harper said.   
  
"It isn't small to you, Antony," Wraith said gently.   
  
"Ethan is my problem now," Harper told her, "I'll take care of him."   
  
A sudden tapping sound interrupted them.  
  
Clara bounced up from her place on the couch to rush to the window, where a ruffled owl waited. Opening the window to the bird, Clara held out her hand for the letter it carried. Once its burden was delivered, the owl took off again, not waiting for a reply. Clara turned the letter over in her hand, frowning as she crossed back to Wraith.   
  
"Isn't that the Gringotts' seal?" she asked, holding out the letter.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, swiftly taking the letter and tearing it open. Her eyes swept over the contents of the letter and her eyes narrowed. "I'm needed at Gringotts," she said, standing.   
  
Harper, closer to where it lay, snatched up her coat and held it out to her. Wraith took it with the slightest smile.   
  
"Should one of us come with you?" Harper asked her.   
  
"No," Wraith replied, "I believe that the goblins would prefer if I went alone. If the Dark Lord returns before I do, inform him of where I have gone."   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Harper said, bowing his head.   
  
Wraith glanced over her shoulder at Clara. "Stay out of trouble—both of you."    
  
  
  
  
The moment that Wraith entered Gringotts, she knew that something was very wrong. The goblins were in a fury, speaking their twisted language in hushed tones. Wraith's eyes sought out Garnott among the others.   
  
"Garnott," she said, signaling her presence as she crossed the tiled floor to him, "You called for me. What has happened?"   
  
"An attempted theft," Garnott told her, practically spitting the words out like poison, "The thieves were thwarted, but they managed to escape capture."   
  
"It seems a pithy thing to ask—but what concern is this of mine?"   
  
"One of the thieves was Harry Potter."   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow and she smiled slowly. " _Really_. Do you know what he was after?"   
  
"Not the specifics," Garnott said, "But before they were caught, they were trying to get down to the high security vaults."   
  
Wraith tapped a finger to her lips as she thought. "Can you think of any of the Dark Lord's followers who would have a vault down there?"   
  
"The Malfoys family has a vault," Garnott replied, his mind immediately thinking on the Dark Lord's inner circle, "The Lestranges."   
  
Wraith's eyes sharpened, as did her smile. "Garnott," she said, "Will you show me to the Lestranges' vault?"   
  
The goblin hesitated and Wraith did not press him for an answer. The goblins of Gringotts had taken a blow to their pride that night already with the attempted theft, she wasn't going to add to it.   
  
Finally, Garnott nodded tersely. "Come with me," he told her.   
  
Down deep underground, Wraith stood at the entrance of the vault, having trouble tearing her eyes away from the great dragon that was chained before the vaults to guard them. Her hands itched to destroy the chain just on principle—but such an act would lose her the goblins' alliance.  _Another time_ , she mentally promised the dragon.   
  
Wraith turned her attention to the vault which Garnott opened to her. Her eyes swept over the mounds of treasure within. Garnott stood by her side, his eyes watching her. The goblin frowned when she closed her eyes and he felt the slightest chill of her power gently sweeping out from her. He wisely remained silent.   
  
After a moment, Wraith opened her eyes and stepped into the vault, her path clearly divined in her mind. Moving slowly through the intricate paths between the treasures the Lestranges had hoarded away, Wraith felt it hidden amongst the gold and jewels—felt its pulse like her own heartbeat.   
  
She came to a halt deep in the vault and lifted her hand, calling to it. She felt the complex protections upon it even as it flew down from its perch to her hand. Wraith ran her hands gently over the golden cup, tracing the badger engraved upon it.   
  
"My dear clever boy," she murmured, "Look how very close you came."   
  
With great reluctance, Wraith placed the cup back among the treasures and left the vault.   
  
  
  
  
" _ **WHAT**_!?"   
  
Wraith barely managed not to flinch at Voldemort's disbelieving roar. The Dark Lord was pacing furiously before his desk, his hands clenching as if he longed to wring someone's neck.   
  
"You are  _certain_  that Potter was after something in the high security vaults?" he demanded of her.  
  
"Absolutely," Wraith told him.   
  
"Just how close did the boy get?" Voldemort snarled.   
  
"It was the dragon that guards the vaults that sniffed them out. Apparently, they had a very good cloak of invisibility. But that dragon is all but blind—its other sense are heightened and they couldn't hide from it."   
  
"Which vault?" Voldemort asked, "Which vault was Potter after?"   
  
"I do not know," Wraith said lightly, tilting her head, "…Which do  _you_  think?"   
  
Voldemort stopped his pacing and looked sharply to his Wraith. "What do you mean by that?"   
  
"You—are— _petrified_ ," Wraith snapped at him, " _What_  is down in those vaults that you are so afraid of Potter getting his hands on?"   
  
"That is none of your concern," the Dark Lord told her tersely, "and I am  _far_  from petrified,  _pet_. I am merely furious as to the goblins' failure to better protect their charge."   
  
"Do not take me for a fool," Wraith said slowly, approaching him, "I know you best," she told him, touching her hand to his cheek, "Tell me what he's after— _and I will help protect it for you_!"   
  
Voldemort closed his eyes, placing his hand over hers. But he turned away from her. "No," he said, "The best thing to do is move it."   
  
"You're wrong."   
  
Voldemort hissed at her sharp tone, but Wraith stood firm.   
  
"The most… _prudent_  thing to do would be to keep it at Gringotts."   
  
"You cannot be serious," Voldemort said flatly.   
  
"Oh, not in the same vault," Wraith amended, "But I'm certain that the goblins would oblige me with a high security vault of mine own. And Potter would not dare to try Gringotts again. The goblins are after his blood now."   
  
"I will consider the option," Voldemort told her.   
  
Wraith felt a flash of frustration.  _I'll be damned if I let a piece of you slip from my grasp_. Seeing an advantage to it, Wraith allowed her annoyance to show. She sighed and folded her arms over her chest. "You do not trust me with this," she accused.   
  
"It is not your concern," Voldemort said coldly.   
  
" _You_  are my concern," Wraith retorted sharply, "Why must you always fight against my helping you? Have I not done well in protecting that trinket of your ancestor's?"   
  
Wraith was pleased to see Voldemort flinch slightly at the mention of another of his Horcruxes. "You have done very well," he conceded, "But leave this to me, my Wraith."   
  
"Need I remind you that the last time you refused my help, you wasted months hunting for something that was then stolen right from under you?"   
  
" _Get out_ ," the Dark Lord snarled.   
  
Wraith felt her lips twist into a snarl of her own, but she held it back. She turned sharply on her heel and stalked to the door. She paused in the doorway, looking back to the Dark Lord.   
  
"You ought to trust me. After all," she said with a poisoned smile, "Who else do you have?"   
  
Before he could reply, she stepped out, slamming the door behind her.   
  
  
  
  
The Dark Lord left the Manor shortly after that, Wraith had felt him clamp down upon the connection between them once he had. Her only guess was that he did not want his Wraith following him. She waited nearly an hour and then went to her mirror, pouring her power into the glass.  
  
Garnott appeared within the mirror, looking annoyed and curious at the same time. "Lady Wraith," he said, "Did you Lord take the news well?"  
  
"Oh, as well as could be expected," Wraith replied with a sharp smile, "I'm actually calling because I've misplaced him. He hasn't arrived at your bank, has he?"  
  
"No," the goblin said slowly, "You believe he will come here himself?"  
  
"It's a possibility," she told him, "The object with the Lestranges' vault—it is still in place there?"  
  
"Yes," Garnott said.  
  
"I would be much obliged if you would let me know if that changes."  
  
"You will be obliged," he told her.   
  
"My sincerest thanks, Garnott," Wraith said, bowing her head to him.  
  
  
  
  
Snape arrived at the Manor after Wraith's terse letter, just in time to see Bellatrix and Rodolphus heading up the stairs in the entrance hall. He waited until they had disappeared further down the hall before he started up to Wraith's tower. Snape was rather eager to hear just what Wraith had to tell him. Wraith had said nothing about what was going on and Snape couldn't discern from her note whether or not the news was good or bad.   
  
He reached her tower and knocked upon the door. He had to wait a moment before anyone answered and he heard someone unlock the door before it opened.   
  
Clara glanced at him and then looked back to where Wraith stood. "He's here."   
  
"Join Harper downstairs," Wraith instructed, not looking away from the fire.   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Clara said, opening the door further so that she could slip out past Snape.   
  
Snape watched her go and then stepped into the room, closing the door as he did. "What is going on?" he asked her.   
  
Wraith turned her head to look at him, her mouth twisted with a knife-edged smile. "Potter tried to break into Gringotts tonight," she said slowly, "He and his friends were caught trying to get into a high security vault. Want to take a guess as to what they were after?"   
  
Snape inhaled sharply. "They believe a Horcrux is hidden there?" he demanded in a whisper.   
  
"They do," Wraith replied, "and they're  _correct_. It was in the Lestranges' vault, Severus. A small golden cup with Hufflepuff's badger engraved upon it."   
  
"You saw it?"   
  
"I had my hands on it," Wraith said gleefully, "though the Dark Lord doesn't know that. He thinks me ignorant as to what Potter was trying to steal. Oh, Severus, he is in a  _panic_  about this. It's absolutely  _delicious_."   
  
"You left it in the vault?" Snape said sharply.   
  
"I did," Wraith said, "But I know where it is, Severus, and even if Voldemort moves it, I will be able to find it again. I'm  _trying_  to convince him that the best thing to do is simply move the object to a different vault within Gringotts. A vault that is backed by my own protections as well as the goblins'. But he's being difficult."   
  
"I could try and put a word in," Snape said,  considering the idea, "Suggest a similar idea."   
  
"It could help greatly," Wraith told him, "He values you nearly as much as he does me."   
  
"You said that it was in the Lestranges' vault?" Snape asked.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Bellatrix and Rodolphus arrived here shortly before I did," Snape said, raising a brow, "I imagine that the Dark Lord is eager to know how Harry Potter knew to look in their vault."   
  
"That's a good question actually," Wraith commented.   
  
"It could very well have been a guess," Snape said, "Potter knows the Dark Lord's mind well. And he knows that he had trusted his Death Eaters with a Horcrux before. Years ago, the Dark Lord gave Lucius Malfoy the diary that Potter ended up destroying."   
  
"The Dark Lord doesn't like to think that Potter knows him so well," Wraith said, "He won't believe that Potter only guessed at the Horcrux's location. Ooh, I'd bet money that Bella and her husband are going to walk away from that meeting bloody."   
  
"You don't have to sound so very pleased by it," Snape said dryly.   
  
"Why not?" she asked. But she saw the flash of concern in Snape's eyes before he could mask it. "I know," she said impatiently, "It isn't 'nice' to revel in my enemies' pain."   
  
"Wraith," Snape said as gently as he could, "I wonder sometimes what kind of person you are becoming."  
  
The words struck Wraith deep and she turned away from him, not wanting him to see that they had.   
  
As a thought began to form in her mind, Wraith turned back and broke the silence. "Perhaps it's time to play upon my Lord's dislike of his connection to Potter." She moved quickly past Snape to the door. "Wait here for me, will you?" she asked him, "I'll be back soon."  
  
"What are you going to do?" he asked her.  
  
Wraith sighed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Save Bellatrix's skin."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith reached the Dark Lord's tower and was slightly surprised to see that Rodolphus was pacing the floor before the steps. The man was casting concerned glances up the twisting staircase, a nervous tick beneath his eye. Wraith said nothing as she approached, not even when she walked passed him to reach those steps.   
  
"Wait!" he called at once.   
  
Wraith turned slightly to see him and raised an eyebrow.   
  
"Has he called for you?" Rodolphus asked, "Are you here for Bella's life?"   
  
"Rodolphus, if I was here to kill your wife, I'd be  _dancing_ ," Wraith told him with a sharp smirk.   
  
"The Dark Lord is furious with her," Rodolphus said, "I don't know why."   
  
"He has no reason to be so," Wraith said, "I will assure him of it." She titled her head to the side, "Tell me, Rodolphus, do you speak out of love and concern for your wife—or fear of your own position if she were to be found a traitor?"   
  
"…I don't know," he replied.  
  
"A good and honest answer," Wraith said, "Wait here. Your wife will be down shortly." She made her way up the twisting stair.   
  
As she reached the door, she could hear Bellatrix pleading with Voldemort. " _Please_ , my Lord, I  _swear_ —I would never— _never_ ¬ tell a soul of the treasure you charged me with! Not even my husband knew of it!  _My Lord_!"   
  
Wraith slipped through the door silently and saw them both. Voldemort had his hand wrapped around Bella's throat, his wand pointed at her eye and his face taunt with fury.   
  
"Loath as I am to come to this woman's defense, my Lord," Wraith said, stepping into the room, "She's telling the truth."   
  
"This is not your concern,  _pet_ ," Voldemort snarled, not taking his eyes from Bellatrix.   
  
"If Bellatrix even  _suspected_  herself of letting something slip, she would be on her knees  _begging_  for your forgiveness," Wraith told him, "You know this."   
  
Voldemort glanced at her only briefly, but Wraith saw that he had heard her.   
  
"Bellatrix's loyalty is  _unshakable_ ," Wraith said flatly, stepping around so that she was in his line of sight over Bella's shoulder, "and you wasting time."   
  
With a snarl, Voldemort threw Bellatrix aside and the woman skidded along the floor, crying out. The Dark Lord turned his fury upon his Wraith, but she stood her ground in the face of it.   
  
"I'd leave, Bella dear," Wraith suggested lightly, her eyes clashing with Voldemort's.   
  
Bellatrix climbed to her feet and slowly backed away until she reached the door. At the sound of the door slamming shut behind her, Voldemort seemed to break out of some kind of trance. He looked to the door and then back at Wraith.   
  
"You forget your place, my Wraith," he told her.   
  
"My place is ever by your side, my Lord and love," Wraith replied with that knife-edged smile.   
  
Voldemort made a move towards her and she quickly stepped back out of his reach, her smile gone.   
  
"You are not thinking clearly," she spat at him, "Your Death Eaters, my Lord, are not the greatest threat to your security— _You_  are."   
  
 _That_  stopped him cold. Before he could speak, Wraith pressed on.  
  
"When I spoke earlier about knowing you best, I have to wonder now if I was wrong," she said, "I think there is one other who might know you better than I. And he is your greatest enemy. The first time that I met Harry Potter, he already knew my face," she told him, "Because he had seen it through  _your_  eyes. You lose control of your anger and he slips into your mind like a little spy. You are so wrapped up in your own furious indignation, he could be watching right at this moment."   
  
Voldemort leaned against his desk, pressing a hand to his forehead. "You…you believe that Potter attempted the theft on information he gleaned from  _me_?"   
  
"It is far more likely than Bella betraying you," Wraith said with a small shrug. She considered him and then moved closer, though with an air of caution, reaching out to touch his arm. The Dark Lord slapped her hand away and Wraith's temper flared. She grabbed his sleeve when he tried to move away. "Don't," she said sharply, "I'm tired of you pulling away when it suits you."   
  
With a  hiss, Voldemort grabbed her wrist and swiftly twisted her arm behind her back. Wraith felt a surge of her old panic and Voldemort saw it flash in her eyes when she tried to turn her head enough to see him. He pulled her back against him and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Your options, my pet, are either that I pull away or I take my anger out on you."   
  
Wraith gave a little hiss of her own when he tightened his grip. "I'd rather your temper than your silence," she murmured, relaxing against him. She felt him start slightly in surprise. Turning her head towards him, she laid her cheek against his chest. "Your silence does more damage," she told him.   
  
Voldemort slow loosened his hold, but Wraith stayed where she was. She sighed as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her. There was a slow ache deep inside her that she couldn't ignore. Voldemort let out a breath, lowing his head.   
  
"'Lord and love' you called me," he murmured, "Do you  _love_  me, pet?"   
  
There was an edge of dark humor in the question and Wraith knew then that he was no longer angry with her. She laughed at the question, pleasing him.   
  
"No more than  _you_  love  _me_ ," she replied tartly.   
  
Voldemort laughed, low and dark. He started to release her, but she placed her hands upon the arm enfolded around her, keeping him still.   
  
"Ah, but  _need_ ," she breathed, "Need is a close kin of love—and it has a bitter taste."   
  
Wraith pulled away from him, the motion sharp, and stalked to the door.   
  
"So, you are still angry with me," Voldemort said. "I'd almost forgotten how I enjoy your tempers, my Lady," he told her with a twisted shadow of a smile, "But I will make it up to you."   
  
"You will try," Wraith replied, slipping through the door.


	78. Control

_"I'd heard you were dead"  
  
"I heard you wear a red lace corset, but I don't believe every bit of nonsense that gets rumored about."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith was tempted to simply return to her own tower, sensing that it was empty, but Snape was below still—and she still needed to speak with him. So she set course for the drawing room, forgoing her need for solitude.   
  
When she reached the entrance hall, she was not all that surprised to see Rodolphus and Bellatrix idling by the front doors. Rodolphus had one hand on his wife's shoulder, whole the other brushed her cheek. Wraith thought she had never seen Bellatrix so very shaken. She ignored them as she crossed the hall to the drawing room doors, but before she could enter, she heard Bellatrix's voice.   
  
"Wait."   
  
Wraith sighed pointedly, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "Yes, Bella dear?"   
  
"Why?" Bellatrix asked, slowly approaching, "That is the second time you have spared me of the Dark Lord's wrath. Don't you want me dead?"   
  
"I do," Wraith admitted, "But not at our Lord's cost."   
  
Bellatrix stopped, still a good distance away. "But  _why_?"   
  
"I am his Executioner, charged with disposing of those who would betray him. It follows that I ought to protect those who would never do so."   
  
"I don't understand you," Bella spat.   
  
"I don't care," Wraith replied with a sharp smirk. She reached for the door, but was stopped by Bellatrix closing the distance between them and grabbing her arm. Wraith's lip twisted in irritation and she grabbed Bella's arm in turn and spun her around to press her back against the wall.   
  
"Make no mistake, Bells," Wraith told her, curving her hand against Bellatrix's cheek, "The day will come when the cards don't turn in your favor. I will kill you. I'll do  _more_  than kill you for the many insults you've dealt me," she added with a sweet and poisoned grin, "—I'll string a fiddle with your guts and make you play it whilst I dance."   
  
Bellatrix's eyes narrowed and she regarded Wraith with new sight.   
  
"Do we understand each other now?" Wraith asked her.   
  
Slowly, Bellatrix nodded. Darkly satisfied, Wraith stepped away from her, sparing Rodolphus a glance as she slipped into the drawing room, leaving the Lestranges behind.   
  
Snape, Clara, and Harper were before the fireplace. Snape was standing, but the other two were seated. Other than them, the room was empty, not even Wormtail was present in his usual corner. Wraith went to Snape, holding out a hand. Snape blinked, but he took her hand in his, bowing his head over it.   
  
"Mission accomplished," Wraith said to him with a wry smile.   
  
"What mission?" Clara asked curiously.   
  
"I'll explain later," Wraith assured her.   
  
"My Lady, are you alright?" Harper asked.   
  
Wraith silently cursed her Harper's sharp eyes. "Well enough," she said, turning her eyes to the fire. "I think I need some air," she said slowly, "I'm going for a ride with Hakuul. Severus, will you walk with me?"   
  
"As you wish," Snape replied.   
  
Wraith paused briefly to touch Harper's hair and brush Clara's cheek with the same motion. They smiled up at her, but concern touched them all the same. "I won't be long," she told them.  
  
The Lestranges had gone when Wraith stepped back out into the hall with Snape at her side. Together they went outside into the snow-brushed air and walked slowly towards the forest.   
  
Once they were in the trees and out of sight of the Manor, Wraith stopped and turned to Snape. "Severus," she said softly, "I  _do_  enjoy the power I hold—perhaps too much. I have been his creature for so very long. But I  _promise_  you, I will not let it control me."   
  
Snape sighed, lifting a hand to place on her shoulder. "I have faith in your promises," he told her.   
  
"I have faith in you," Wraith said, "The pieces are in place, Severus. It won't be long before I am free of him—before we're  _both_  free of him." She wrapped her arms around him, embracing him tightly.   
  
Snape put his arm around her, brushing his hand over her hair. "You ought to come to Hogwarts," he said when he pulled back, "Stay for a few days, bring those two fools."   
  
Wraith smiled, liking the idea. "I'll do that," she replied. Her smiled faded slightly as she turned her eyes to something deep in the trees. "But not tonight," she added in a whisper. "You should go, Severus. There's something I have to attend to."   
  
Snape's eyes sharpened and he followed her gaze, but saw nothing in the shadows. "Wraith, what is it?"   
  
"I'll explain another time," Wraith told him, moving past him and whistling for her thestral. Hakuul came through the trees to meet her and she quickly pulled herself up onto his back.   
  
Wraith paused long enough to look down at Snape with a small and twisted smile. But before he could speak to stop her, she had wheeled the thestral around and disappeared into the shadows of the forest.   
  
  
  
  
"What on earth on you doing here this time?"   
  
Grindelwald looked up and smiled. He was seated on a fallen log, looking as though he had been waiting for her. Wraith remained mounted on Hakuul, staring down at the aged wizard with cool and curious eyes.   
  
"Well?" she prompted, "You know full well that you won't get onto the Manor grounds again, so I can only assume you've come to bother me."  
  
"I want to know what you are," Grindelwald told her.   
  
Wraith laughed, tilting her head back. "Oh, you and I both, my friend," she replied with a cheshire grin, "If that's what you came here to find out, you'll be leaving disappointed."   
  
"Tell me then, Lady Death, how many lives have you taken?"   
  
"Not nearly as many as you," Wraith retorted, "But then I haven't lived as long as you either."   
  
"You want to know what it is that I stole from Albus's grave."   
  
"I'm curious," Wraith said with a shrug, "Why, do you feel like sharing?"   
  
"Perhaps an exchange of information?" Grindelwald suggested, twirling his wand around in his hand.   
  
Wraith pursed her lips as if thinking over his proposition. Then she grinned again. "No," she said slowly, "I think I prefer our game."   
  
"Will you not even hear my question?"   
  
"Go on then," Wraith replied.   
  
"I heard a rumor that the Potter boy tried to break into Gringotts," Grindelwald said, "And yet no one knows for what purpose. But your Lord is said to have been furious about the attempt."   
  
"Is there a question in there?"   
  
"What did the boy want?"   
  
"Are you thinking of helping him?" Wraith asked in turn, raising an eyebrow.   
  
"I'd considered it," Grindelwald admitted, "But I want to know what got under your Lord's skin so badly."   
  
"Only Potter or I have really pulled that off," Wraith said, smirking, "We've a talent for it. But if you want a few pointers…?"   
  
Grindelwald laughed, low and devilishly. "Don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs, bratling."   
  
Wraith laughed at that, her voice a bell in the dark forest. "Apologies," she said around a grin, "I bow to your vast experience, wizard," she added mockingly.   
  
She was pleased to see only the slightest bit of insult pass over his face before he smiled sardonically and gave a little bow of his own.   
  
"Whatever did your Lord do to deserve one such as you?"  
  
"Whoever said that he deserves me?"   
  
"'A witty woman is a treasure; a witty beauty is a power,'" Grindelwald quoted airily, "and you are power, are you not?"   
  
Wraith smiled still, rather flattered and yet unmoved by it. "Best be on your way, wizard," she told him, "My Lord is waiting for me."   
  
With a sigh, Grindelwald got to his feet. "I will return," he warned her.   
  
"I look forward to it," Wraith said with all honesty.    
  
  
  
  
The next evening, Wraith was settled quite comfortably on the couch in the drawing room with Harper and Clara, though Clara was stretched out over her and Harper's laps. Wraith was brushing her fingers through Clara's chestnut hair, smiling fondly, when she felt the Dark Lord's presence at the door. She shared a glance with Harper, smirking, before she looked up to where Voldemort stood.   
  
The Dark Lord's eyes were narrowed as he took in the scene.   
  
Clara gave a small yelp when she saw him, but Wraith's hand held her still.   
  
"Hello, my Lord," Wraith said brightly.   
  
"My Wraith," he replied, "I want a moment with you."   
  
"As you like," she said, with a small shrug. She looked down to Clara and tapped the girl's nose. "Give us that moment, would you, dear?"   
  
"Of course," Clara said breathily, sitting up. She straightened and took Harper's hand tightly in hers before leading him over to the other side of the room where they could not overhear Wraith and Voldemort speak.   
  
The Dark Lord watched them before he settled into the chair nearest the couch. Wraith curled her legs underneath her, and tilted her head to the side, considering her Lord.   
  
"Still angry with me, pet?" Voldemort asked with a twisted shadow of a smile.   
  
"Yes, my Lord," Wraith replied with a sharp smile of her own, "Still don't trust me?" she asked him in turn.   
  
"I do trust you," the Dark Lord said.   
  
"You do not show it," Wraith said sharply.   
  
"I've brought you a gift," Voldemort told her, offering a slim white box.   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed as she took it and lifted the lid. Voldemort saw the briefest flash of pleasure cross her face as she took out the dark gold necklace. It was a twisted snake, its tail making up the chain of the necklace.   
  
Then Wraith's eyes narrowed once more and she turned a glare on him. She put the necklace back into the box and shut it, tossing it back at him. Voldemort caught the little box, scowling at her reaction.   
  
"You think me some kept woman to be placated with pretty things?" Wraith accused bitingly.   
  
Voldemort sneered and opened his mouth to sharply reply—but then to Wrath surprise, he stopped. A slow smile touched his face and he cocked his head to the side. "You do look lovely sitting there spitting at me like a she-cat," he told her, "All I have to do is look at you, and I'm quite tempted to take you upstairs and make love to you until you don't have the energy to be mad at me anymore."   
  
Wraith stared at him openly—and then she threw her head back to laugh delightedly.   
  
Harper and Clara looked over in surprise to see her grinning.   
  
Wraith uncurled herself from the couch, standing and offering a hand to Voldemort. "Come then," she told him, still grinning, "Let's see if you're up for the challenge."   
  
The Dark Lord stood and Wraith twisted her arm through his. There was a dark energy in the air around them that Harper and Clara all but felt as they left the room.   
  
"The Hell do you think he said?" Clara asked Harper, raising an eyebrow.   
  
"Something lewd, no doubt," Harper replied lightly, "It would have to be to shock our Lady so—and amuse her too."   
  
Clara snorted, hiding her face behind her hand. "Oh, Harper," she said, "I think I could fall madly in bed with you."   
  
Harper grinned like a cat licking cream from its whiskers and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. That set Clara off again, laughing until her sides hurt.   
  
"Seriously though," she said when she could breathe again.   
  
Harper was still grinning, but he shook his head. "Nah," he said, "Not that I'm not flattered—or tempted for that matter—but I, uh, kind of left someone back in Hogsmeade. We never said goodbye, you know?"   
  
Clara's eyes widened. "Tony, you dog," she said with another laugh, "Why haven't you mentioned her before?"   
  
"It was personal," he said defensively, "and…well, the time was never right."   
  
"Oh," Clara said, her eyes lit with sympathy, "Tony, I'm sorry."   
  
"It's alright," Harper said with a nonchalant shrug, "It's not like we'll never see each other again."   
  
"I bet she's pretty," Clara said.   
  
"Yeah," Harper said, ducking his head as a slight blush touched his face.   
  
"Wraith was talking about spending a few days at Hogwarts," Clara said, "Maybe you could visit your girlfriend then."   
  
"Nobody to visit," Harper said, "When I left Hogsmeade, we decided it wasn't safe for either of us to stay there."   
  
"You're going to have to tell me more about her, you realize that, right?"   
  
Harper laughed nervously, feeling a bit trapped.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith fell back onto the bed, brushing sweat-tinged hair from her face. Beside her Voldemort hissed in pain as he examine the set of long scratches she had left on his chest. "You've  _bled_  me, pet," he told her, and though the words were sharp, they were touched with amusement.   
  
Wraith grinned and turned on her side, running her hand lightly down those marks. "Serves you right for taking a viper to your bed," she replied archly.   
  
"Hm, true enough," he said, catching her sharp tone, "Are you  _still_  angry with me?" he demanded.   
  
Wraith smiled, sweet as poison, and laid her hand firmly upon the fresh scratches as she straddled his waist. Voldemort hissed again at the stinging pain and Wraith laughed low under her breath. "Yes," she told him, leaning down to brush her lips against his neck, "…But it's fading," she admitted with a sly grin. She set her teeth against the pulse in his throat and she made an appreciative sound. "I like the way I can make your pulse race," she told him.   
  
"Spiteful little witch."   
  
"Ha," Wraith said, sitting up again, "Now, I know that isn't the word you'd really like to use. Call a spade a spade, lover mine."   
  
Voldemort gave her a scowl in reply. "Off," he told her, pushing at her.   
  
Wraith complied, falling to the side of him with a little laugh. She pushed herself up onto her elbows as Voldemort stood and began to dress. "Oh, it is all about control with you, isn't it?" she said with a smirk, "You don't like when I have it."   
  
"Very insightful of you, pet," he replied with a sneer, glancing at her.   
  
"Don't get snippy," she said, stretching out on the bed, "I left no marks when anyone can see."   
  
"And for that  I am grateful," Voldemort said dryly. He paused a moment watching her stretch and admiring the lines of her body.   
  
Wraith saw him watching her and her smile went dark. "How long has it been since you last took a lover?" she asked.   
  
"Decades," Voldemort told her.   
  
"Hmm," Wraith murmured, tilting her head, "Why so long?"   
  
"I've had no inclination to take one," he said.   
  
"Am I so special?" Wraith asked wryly.   
  
"You are…something," Voldemort said with a small smirk. His tone made Wraith grin and she laughed again. "You are certainly pleased with yourself," he said bitingly, sitting on the edge of the bed.   
  
Wraith raised an eyebrow. "Are  _you_  not pleased with me?"   
  
"More often than not," Voldemort replied. He held out the box to her again and this time she took it with a smile. She sat up and slipped the necklace around her throat before laying back down again.   
  
"You've dressed," she said with a touch of sulk in her voice, "Are you leaving me so soon?"   
  
"And you call  _me_  insatiable."   
  
"I named us both such," she replied.  
  
"Ah, that's true. You did. I have a task for you, Wraith, a very important one."   
  
"Oh?" she said, sitting up again, "Do tell."   
  
"I'm sending you on a hunt," he told her.   
  
"And who shall be my prey?"  
  
"Kingsley Shacklebolt."   
  
Wraith eyes lit with interest. "Finally removing that thorn from your side, am I?"   
  
"A apt turn of phrase," Voldemort said, "Do you think yourself up for the challenge of it?"   
  
"Of course I do," Wraith said, tilting her head proudly, "and so do you, else you would not challenge me at all."  
  
"I'd like you to begin as you as you are able," the Dark Lord said, "I want him dealt with."   
  
"He will be," Wraith replied, "I promise you."      
  
  
  
  
The Leaky Cauldron had only a few lost souls harbored within that night. Chief among them was a cloaked and hooded man sitting at bar in perfect silence. The bartender Tom kept a nervous eye on him. He was not afraid of the man—rather he feared  _for_  him.   
  
"You're going to get yourself killed," he told the man when he could no longer remain silent.   
  
"We shall see," the man replied, his voice soothing and deep.   
  
Everyone in the bar tensed as the door opened to admit another figure, this one donned in a cloak of deep emerald. Beneath the green of her cloak, she wore white. The few people within left the building as she made her way to the bar where the cloaked man sat. She took the place beside him and pushed back the hood of her cloak.   
  
The man pushed an untouched glass of beer towards her and she raised a brow in surprise. Still, she accept the offer and took a sip.   
  
"No poison?" she said a moment later, "I'm almost disappointed."   
  
The man chuckled, taking a draught of his own drink.   
  
Wraith smirked at him. "Well," she said, "You're a hard man to find."   
  
"I see that the Lady Death is well versed in sarcasm," Kingsley commented.   
  
"It's practically my native tongue," she replied, "Really though, I've been hunting you naught a week and yet here you sit as though you've been waiting."   
  
"That I have," Kingsley said.   
  
"Are you so eager for death, Shacklebolt?" Wraith asked, "For you know well that is what I am for you."   
  
"Give us a moment, would you, Tom?" Kingsley asked of the bartender.   
  
The old man glanced nervously between the two of them, but nodded shortly and disappeared into the back room.   
  
"I will welcome death when my time comes," Kingsley told Wraith, "But I think it is not this night."   
  
"You assume much," she said softly, curiously.   
  
"Are you going to kill me?" he asked pointedly.   
  
"Remains to be seen," she replied, "You have my interest. Keep talking."   
  
"Some time ago, I was speaking with Minerva McGonagall," Kingsley began, "It was shortly after her escape from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She spoke of you."   
  
"Did she?" Wraith cut in, her voice a little sharp, "And what did our dear Minerva have to say of me?"   
  
"She told me of how your master ordered you to heal her," Kingsley said, "You cried for it."   
  
Wraith's eyes shied away as if she were uncomfortable. "I was younger then. I was kinder. You cannot know that you would find me so kind now."   
  
"True, I could not," Kingsley agreed, "But still I think that there is more to you than you show the world." He paused to drink his beer, leaving Wraith rather hanging on his word. "You have had two different opportunities to kill me," he continued, "I wonder why I am not already dead."  
  
"Your death served no purpose to me," Wraith said.   
  
"That would hardly stop your master."   
  
"I am not the Dark Lord," Wraith replied archly, "I thought that I had made that very clear."   
  
"So you have," Kingsley assured her, "Does my death serve you now?"   
  
"It would serve my Lord," Wraith said.   
  
"But would it serve  _you_?" Kingsley asked slowly.   
  
Wraith felt herself smile. "Oh, you  _are_  a clever man," she told him, "to ask me such. No. I do not think your death would serve me at all. But nor would your life," she added pointedly, "My Lord would be very upset with me if I failed in the task he set me."   
  
"How shall we set things to rights?" Kingsley asked.   
  
"Do you want to live, Kingsley?" she asked in turn.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Then you must place a measure of faith in me," she said, "I will make you disappear. No one must know that you live. The cost would be too high for me."   
  
"I am not keen on the idea of hiding," Kingsley admitted.   
  
"Pity," Wraith said dryly, "Your options are to hide or to die."   
  
"How would you make me disappear then?"   
  
"I would take you to allies of mine," she told him, "They will hide you for me."   
  
"What allies do you speak of?"   
  
"You will have to find out," Wraith said maddeningly, "I will not disclose identity until we have reached agreement."   
  
"You protect them."   
  
"I protect that which is  _mine_ ," she told him.   
  
Kingsley lifted his glass to her and she raised hers in turn. "I will place myself in your care," he said.   
  
"And I shall take you," Wraith replied.       
  
  
  
  
The forest was deep and dark and yet Wraith walked the path as if the woods were bright as day. Kingsley followed cautiously behind, his eyes scanning the shadow around. It was not long before they came to a clearing with a fine fire roaring in the center of it. The clearing was deserted despite the fire, making Kingsley pause. But Wraith simply walked up to the fire and cast her eyes around the clearing.   
  
"My Wolf, I would have a favor."   
  
A tall man appeared at the edge of the trees, his eyes narrowed. "My Lady," he said, bowing his head, "It is good to see you again."   
  
"As is it is you, my Wolf," Wraith told him.   
  
"What favor would you have?" Rafe asked.   
  
Wraith turned slightly and gestured for Kingsley to come closer. "I would have you hide this man for me," Wraith said to the werewolf.   
  
Rafe turned curious eyes to the man and inhaled sharply when he recognized him. "My Lady, you are  _full_  of surprises," he said with a smirk.   
  
"Oh, I have barely just begun," Wraith replied with a sharp smile, "Kingsley, this is Rafe."   
  
"I know who he is," Kingsley said.   
  
"And I know who you are," Rafe said, "Kingsley Shacklebolt, has such an honorable man made a deal with the devil?"   
  
"Be nice, my Wolf," Wraith said firmly, "This man is giving up much."   
  
"Because he wants to keep breathing, no doubt," Rafe said wryly.   
  
"As do we all," Wraith said, tapping Rafe under the chin in an admonition.   
  
"I will hide him," Rafe said, bowing his head again, "and keep him safe for you, my Lady."  
  
"Thank you," Wraith told him, touching his cheek in a sweet gesture. She glanced at Kingsley, who looked honestly bemused.   
  
"The wolves of Britain are yours," the man said slowly, "and not your master's."   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, smiling, "They are."   
  
"What game are you playing with this war, Lady Death?" Kingsley asked her, "Will you tell me the truth of it?"   
  
Wraith grinned at him wickedly. "It is always the best policy to speak the truth," she said sweetly, "—Unless, of course, you are an _exceptionally_  good liar. And I am. You will have to be patient with me, Kingsley."   
  
"I will do my best," the man said with a shrug.   
  
"It will not be for long."   
  
That made Kingsley and Rafe both turn sharp eyes to her.   
  
"Will it not?" Rafe asked softly.   
  
"No," Wraith replied, turning to him, "It will not. But you must be patient too, my dear Wolf."   
  
"Patience has served me well so far," Rafe said with a wry smile. "What shall I tell my pack of him?" he asked, nodding to Kingsley.   
  
"I would prefer that your pack not know of him," Wraith said, "Tell your sister the truth of it and keep it between yourselves."   
  
Relief crossed the werewolf's face at her words. "I can tell my sister of our pact?"   
  
"Yes, but know that she will be bound in silence as you are."   
  
"I understand," Rafe said, "Thank you, Wraith."   
  
"Wraith," Kingsley said, making her turn, "I would offer my gratitude for sparing my life."   
  
"And what does your gratitude give me?" she asked him archly.   
  
"Information."   
  
"Go on," Wraith said.   
  
"You are aware of Harry Potter's attempt on Gringotts," Kingsley said, "Not one of the Order knows what he was after—but we do know that he will be seeking the same in Azkaban this very night."   
  
Wraith inhaled sharply and Kingsley was curious to see how pale she became. "Azkaban?" she repeated sharply. "I have to go," she said, drawing the hood of her cloak back up. "I will contact you again only when it is safe."   
  
She vanished on the spot, leaving both men staring at the place where she had been moments before.


	79. Hatred

_"Love isn't the most expensive emotion. Hate is. Because hate will eat you up inside and destroy you, long before it kills you."_  
  
  
  
  
"Harry, I still don't understand what we're doing here," Ron whispered hoarsely from under the invisibility cloak, "Why would You-Know-Who hide one of his Horcruxes here of all places?"   
  
The trio walked very slowly through the nearly abandoned corridors of Azkaban, being careful not to reveal too much beneath the cloak. Harry actually felt slightly grateful that the Dementors had abandoned the prison, though he didn't relish knowing that they were free throughout the whole of Britain.   
  
"Look," he said in answer to Ron, "We know from the little we've heard about the Wraith that she was kept here for a bit when V—when he was gone. If he hid  _her_  here—maybe he's hidden something else."   
  
"Worth a look at least," Hermione said nervously, "but we've been looking for hours now, Harry. I don't think there's anywhere else to check—"   
  
"Wait," Harry hissed, "Do you guys feel that?"   
  
Ron and Hermione felt the chill in the air as they neared a heavy door at the top of an iron wrought staircase.   
  
"Dementors?" Hermione whispered, "I thought they'd all gone!"   
  
"Guards," Harry said, "That's the only reason he would have them here. They're guarding something up there."   
  
It took all three of them to push open the door, it seemed to be pure iron, heavy and rusting in the cold of the prison. None of them felt comfortable with the amount of noise it made as it scrapped the floor, but all the same they hurried through it.   
  
"What is this place?" Hermione asked, looking down the dark hall and the way it twisted further down.  
  
Harry thought that they must have reached the top level of the prison. The cells were…different here. They seemed smaller and were closed off by heavy doors instead of the bars that covered all the others below and each cell had a single barred window in its door.   
  
"I…I don't know," Harry said, frowning, "But I wonder who they kept up here?"   
  
They froze when the Dementors came into view around the curve of the hall. There were two of them, positioned before one of the cells. The Dementors turned their cloaked heads in the trio's direction and Harry quickly pulled he and his friends from the cloak. He pointed his wand at the Dementors and shouted brusquely, " _Expecto Patronum_!" A silver stag burst from the end of his wand and charged down the hall at the Dementors, who quickly fled, taking some of the chill in the air with them.   
  
"…Is…is someone there?" a raspy voice called out.   
  
Sharing a quick look with Ron and Hermione, Harry crossed to the cell and peered in through the little window. He saw a very thin and ragged man staring back out at him, his eyes wide and not quite sane.   
  
"Bless my eyes," the man whispered, "Is that  _Harry Potter_?"   
  
"Who are you?" Harry demanded.   
  
"Gavin," the man told him with a shadow of a smile, "Dominic Gavin. Please—help me. Get me out of here!"   
  
"Not so fast," Ron said, coming up behind Harry, "What is this place? Why is it different from the rest of the prison?"   
  
The man, Gavin, laughed croakily. "This place?" he repeated, "Just another part of Azkaban. Except that you aren't brought  _here_  to be punished. This is the place where you are brought to be  _forgotten_. I should know," he added, "I worked here, oversaw the prison for many years, particularly this part of it."   
  
"Why are you locked up here then?" Harry asked.   
  
"The Dark Lord," Gavin replied, the awe in his voice making Harry shiver, "He put me here—at his sweet Wraith's request."   
  
"Why did the Wraith want you here?" Hermione asked.   
  
Again, Gavin laughed. "Because," he told them, "I hurt her."   
  
"…How?" Harry asked after a moment.   
  
"Let me out," Gavin said, "and I will tell you."   
  
"Tell us and maybe we'll think about letting you out," Ron said flatly.   
  
Gavin did not seem deterred by their hesitance. "I helped to  _create_  her, you know," he said, "The creature was…like a _daughter_  to me."   
  
"Creature?" Harry repeated.   
  
"A  _marvelous_  creature, is she not?" Gavin said, "A beautiful girl—and I helped to bring her into the world."   
  
"If you're so proud of her," Harry said, "Why did you hurt her?"   
  
"Because I could," Gavin told him with a barmy little giggle, "and I would do it again—given the chance. Give me that chance, boy. Go on."   
  
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione and then looked back to Gavin. "Wait," he said, stepping back.   
  
"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," Gavin said, grinning like a madman.   
  
"Harry, there is something wrong with that man," Hermione said swiftly as the three walked a distance away from Gavin's cell, "We're not going to let him out."   
  
"Hermione, you heard him," Ron said, "He helped  _make_  the Wraith. Maybe he knows a way to  _unmake_  her."   
  
"If he's telling the truth," Hermione argued.   
  
"Let's hear what he had to say," Harry said, "He hasn't got a wand, so we've got the advantage."   
  
"Harry," Hermione said pleadingly.   
  
"Hermione, I don't want us to have come here for nothing," Harry told her. He let out a breath and walked back to Gavin's cell. The man looked at him expectantly, like a child at Christmas. "Alright," Harry said, "We'll let you out. But if you try anything—anything at all—we'll kill you."   
  
Gavin laughed delightedly, leaning his head against the door. "Boy, after being imprisoned here, death is no threat," he said, still laughing, "I'd welcome it, if freedom was not an option."   
  
Harry swallowed and lifted his wand. "Step back from the door."   
  
Gavin obliged him, moving to the back of the little cell. Harry murmured a charm to unlock the cell, hoping that there weren't further protections on the door. But there was a sharp metallic  _click_  and the door swung open just slightly.   
  
Gavin slowly moved forward, edging to the door as if he could not believe his eyes. "Oh," he breathed, "Thank you, Harry Potter. Thank you." The man pulled the door open further, stepping out into the hall. He paused then, closing his eyes and breathing deep.   
  
Harry kept his wand on the man. "You're going to answer our questions before we go anywhere else," he said.   
  
"Whatever you like," Gavin told him, spreading his arms, "I am in your debt, Potter. Ask."   
  
"What did you do to the Wraith?"   
  
"Quite a bit of damage actually," Gavin said with a twisted grin.   
  
Without warning, there was a flash of a blade and Gavin screamed as it raked up his face, split open his lips and cheek. Hermione screamed and Harry and Ron both quickly backed away. Gavin fell back onto the floor within the cell, his hands cradling his marred face.   
  
There was a ripple of power in the air and suddenly Wraith stood between Harry and Gavin, her eyes only for the man she so detested.   
  
"Still that poisoned tongue of yours or I will cut it out," Wraith whispered to Gavin.   
  
In her hand she held her goblin-wrought blade, stained with Gavin's blood. She turned to see Harry and the others, her face twisted with an inhuman snarl and her cheek dotted with blood as well.   
  
"What you seek you will not find here," she told them slowly, " _Get out_."   
  
Harry stood firm, despite the fear that quickened his pulse. "Gavin—he told us that he helped create you," he said to Wraith, "I knew you weren't human."   
  
Wraith approached him, her eyes dark, "Leave or you will find out just how  _inhuman_  I can be."   
  
"We're not leaving without him!" Harry shouted.   
  
"You will," Wraith replied, "Leave this creature to his punishment, Chosen One. I assure you he has earned it tenfold."   
  
"What are so you afraid of?" Harry demanded swiftly, "That he'll help us bring you down?"   
  
"He would be of no help to you," Wraith said with an almost maddened laugh.   
  
"He hurt you," Harry said, "He told us so."   
  
"He did," Wraith said, "But he cannot hurt me anymore."   
  
"Why?"   
  
" _Because I am not a helpless child anymore_!" Wraith snarled.   
  
In the silence that fell after her shout, Gavin crawled out of his cell, one bloodied hand reaching up to grasp the edge of Wraith's emerald cloak. With a hiss, Wraith turned back to him. Gavin pulled himself up onto his knees and buried his face in the pristine white skirt of her dress. A low growling sound escaped from deep within Wraith's throat.   
  
"My sweet Wraith," Gavin moaned, "Have you come to kill me?" he asked beseechingly.   
  
"No, Watcher," Wraith told him, "—You get to live."   
  
In a sharp motion, she reached down and wrapped her hand around his throat, lifting him up. She tilted her head to the side, as if admiring the damage she had done to his face and then, with a breath of cold power, she threw him back into the cell. The door slammed shut with an echoing sound and within the cell Gavin loosed a fresh scream.   
  
Shaking terribly, Wraith slowly turned back to the others. Her eyes locked with Harry's. "…If you ever try to help this man again—I will  _kill_ you." She lifted the knife, pointing down the hall. "Now leave this place and never come back."   
  
Harry didn't know what frightened him more—Gavin's soft pleading for Wraith to kill him…or the tears that were trailing down Wraith's face. He took a step back and then another.   
  
Wraith watched with painful eyes as he turned, grabbing his friends' hands and disappearing down the hall. She glanced at Gavin's cell once last time before she slowly walked away, leaving her Watcher to scream for her.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith returned to the Manor, her steps slow and trembling. As she reached the front steps, she paused long enough to collect herself and still her shaking. She reached up to wipe away any trace of tears that might have remained and her fingers came away bloody. She swallowed back the bile in her throat and continued into the Manor.   
  
The Dark Lord was waiting in the drawing room, alone save for Snape. Both looked up as she entered the room and she gave them a small dark smile.   
  
"My Lord," she said, "Severus."   
  
"My Wraith," Voldemort said, standing, "Is that your blood?"   
  
Wraith blinked and then looked down at her dress and the blood that stained the white of it. "No," she said flatly, lifting her eyes again, "It is not. You may consider Kingsley Shacklebolt dealt with, my Lord."   
  
Pleasure flashed in the Dark Lord's eyes and he crossed to her, putting a hand under her chin to lift her face. "Well done, my Lady," he murmured.   
  
She smiled, but it was wane. "Forgive me, my Lord," she said, dropping her eyes, "I fear I may overextended myself a bit. I need rest."   
  
"Of course," Voldemort said, touching her hair, "You rest, dear one. You have earned it." He went back to his chair before the fire and looked to Snape. "Severus, you expressed wish to speak with her. You may walk her up to her room."   
  
"My Lord," Snape said, standing and bowing his head. He went to Wraith's side, offering her his arm.   
  
Wraith gave Voldemort another diminished smile before she placed her hand upon Snape's arm, allowing him to lead her out of the room.   
  
"Wraith," Snape said immediately once they were out of hearing range.   
  
"It isn't Kingsley's blood either," she told him, cutting short his questions.   
  
"Then who does it belong to?" Snape asked slowly.   
  
"Gavin."   
  
Snape stopped short, grabbing Wraith by her shoulders and turning her to face him. "Child, what happened?"   
  
"I took Kingsley to my wolves," she told him softly, "and in return for his life, he gave me information. That Potter was searching Azkaban tonight, no doubt hunting Horcruxes. He was going to let Gavin out," she said, her tone edging on desperate.   
  
"Wraith," Snape said, putting a hand on her cheek, "What have you done?"   
  
"I…I hurt Gavin," she said shakily, holding up her knife, "I sliced open his face and pushed him back into his cell."   
  
"And Potter?"  
  
"He walked away," Wraith said, "I let him go. Oh, but Severus, it was such a near thing." She clung to Snape's robes, her face twisted in misery and fury alike. "I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill him for letting Gavin out, even for a moment."   
  
Snape looked around the hall and then pulled Wraith into a loose embrace, shushing her as he ran his hand down her hair. Wraith fought the sobs that tore at her throat.   
  
"I'd forgotten," she whispered, "just how much I _hate_  him."   
  
Snape had no words of comfort. He understood the hate—but he knew nothing of the pain. "Come," he said instead, "You did not lie, child, you need rest."   
  
He helped her up to her tower, where Clara was already curled up in bed. Snape went over and shook the girl's shoulder until she woke with a snort. Clara blinked sleepily up at Snape, confused by his presence.   
  
"Tend to your Lady," Snape told her before he left the room.   
  
Wraith undid the clasp of her cloak and simply let it fall to the floor as Clara scrambled out of bed.  
  
"Wraith, are you okay?" she asked, breathless at the sight of the blood.   
  
"I'm okay," Wraith lied, "I'm okay."   
  
But Clara did not believe her. The taller girl wrapped her arms tightly around Wraith, holding her close. Wraith's breath broke on a sob and she let Clara pull her over to collapse on the bed. She curled up into a ball and Clara held her, saying nothing as Wraith sobbed.    
  
  
  
  
Once she was able to speak, Wraith spoke to Clara in whisper, telling her of Gavin, who he was and what he had done to her—and what she had done to him. Clara was silent as Wraith told the tale of it all.   
  
When Wraith became quiet, Clara let out a breath. "That bloody buggering bastard," she snarled quietly, "He's the worst kind of monster, preying on a child."   
  
Wraith let out a weak laugh, tucking her face into the nook of Clara's neck.   
  
"Well," Clara continued, "Look at it this way—at least a little good came of it all."   
  
"What do you mean?" Wraith asked in a murmur.   
  
"That blood on your dress," Clara explained, "I'd say it added verisimilitude to your spun tale of 'dealing' with Kingsley."   
  
"Suppose that's true," Wraith admitted.   
  
Clara gave Wraith a squeeze and then let her go. "Let's get you out of that bloody dress, hm?"   
  
Wraith nodded and slowly climbed out of her bed. Clara helped her out of the dress and wrapped Wraith in a warm robe. While Wraith crawled back into bed, Clara put out the lights of the room, save for the light cast by the fireplace.   
  
"Do you want something to drink before you sleep?" Clara asked.   
  
"I'm not thirsty."   
  
"I wasn't thinking so much about thirst," Clara said with a smirk.   
  
"Oh," Wraith murmured, "Then yes, I'd like something to drink."   
  
Clara nodded and disappeared from the tower for a few minutes. When she returned, she was carrying a bottle of firewhiskey and a pair of short glasses. She sat on the edge of the bed and set the glasses on the bedside table.   
  
Wraith sat up and watched Clara pour them both a drink. Clara turned, offering one glass to Wraith. She took it and emptied it in one swallow, taking pleasure in the sharp burn of the alcohol. Clara raised an eyebrow at her and lifted the bottle in question. Wraith sighed and held out her glass.   
  
"I don't know why I don't do this more often," Wraith said with a wry smile as Clara filled it, "Spirits know that I've plenty reason to."   
  
"Yeah well, I've never been one for moderation anyway," Clara said brightly, pouring a second drink for herself too, "So," she said, changing the subject abruptly, "I'm thinking of sleeping with Tony."   
  
Wraith choked on her whiskey, but laughed despite the sting. "Alright then," she gasped out.   
  
"He's  _adorable_ , isn't he?" Clara said, with a bit of a pout.   
  
"He is," Wraith agreed.   
  
"There's a bit of an obstacle, though," Clara said, "Apparently, our Harper met someone while he was in Hogsmeade and had to leave her bind."   
  
"Harper?" Wraith replied, "Why hasn't he said anything?"   
  
"I asked him the same," Clara said, "He said the timing was never right. So," she added with a sigh, "I'm thinking it's not going to happen. He's just too sweet."   
  
"Huh," Wraith murmured.   
  
"So, you think the wolves will keep Kingsley safe?" Clara asked.   
  
"I do," Wraith said, "He'll be safe until the time comes that he no longer needs to hide."  
  
"When will that be? Do you know?"   
  
"I'm not sure," Wraith replied with half a laugh, "But I have all the pieces in place now. All I need now is for the Dark Lord to loose his hold on me."   
  
"But how will you do that?" Clara asked, "He isn't one to just let go of power."   
  
"No, he is not," Wraith agreed, "But I've got a few ideas when it comes to that. They aren't ideas I particularly relish though—so I'm going to make a study of our bond. I can manipulate it to some extent—close it off just enough so that I can hide my presence from him. But I need more information."   
  
"How will you find it?"   
  
Wraith smiled grimly. "By disobeying my Lord," she replied, "There is something here in this place that is tied to me. There are answers to be found here." Wraith stood, crossing to one of the windows. "And I believe that I know where to begin my search," she whispered, her eyes upon the Rose Maze below.


	80. Roses

_"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."_  
  
  
  
  
Wraith did not want to enter the Maze. Every inch of her fought against the very thought of it. But even as the fear pushed her away from it, something in the Maze seemed to be pulling her to it. It made Wraith wonder what it was she really feared.   
  
It was several days before Wraith took the chance for the Rose Maze. It wasn't until the morning that she woke and realized that the Dark Lord had left the Manor that she even considered it. She did not want Voldemort anywhere nearby when she explore the Maze. If something happened in that place, if it affected her somehow, she didn't want to take the chance that Voldemort would be able to sense it through their bond.   
  
Standing before the entrance of the Maze in the bitter cold light of day, Wraith willed herself to take that first step.   
  
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Harper asked her, standing at her side.   
  
"Some things are best done alone," she replied, "Besides, I need you to play guard."   
  
Harper was going to stand at the entrance of the Maze, cloaked from sight. Up in the tower, Clara was also playing guard. If the Dark Lord returned when Wraith was still in the Maze, she would tell him that his Lady had gone riding. The Dark Lord would  have no reason to disbelieve it.   
  
"My Lady?"   
  
Wraith blinked, realizing that she hadn't yet moved. "Keep watch," she told her Harper, "and keep quiet. If something goes wrong, I'll signal you."   
  
"Be careful," Harper said gently, not truly understanding what prompted her fear.   
  
Wraith took a breath—and then stepped into the shadow of the Maze.   
  
Harper touched a hand to the bracelet bound around his wrist and he vanished from sight.   
  
Wraith walked slowly down the narrow path, her arms brushing over the dead roses as she passed them. She felt the silence around her like a physical force weighing down on her. She couldn't even hear birds singing from the forest. Her heart pounded and she didn't even know why. Her cloak snagged on the thorns around her, but she ignored their gentle tugs.   
  
After a while of wandering aimlessly, choosing paths at random, Wraith went so far as to close her eyes and move by feel alone. She lost track of time. At last, she stepped into a open space within the Maze. Feeling nothing at either side of her, she opened her eyes to see where she had ended up.   
  
It was a small, circular clearing with a large ruin of what must have once been a grand and ornate water fountain. Pale sunlight made the frost on the stone glitter strangely and Wraith found herself walking closer to it.   
  
As she reached out a hand towards it, she suddenly cried out, putting the hand on her brow. It felt as if a spike had just been thrust into the center of her forehead. Wraith fell to her knees, clutching her head between her hands. It felt like something was trying to claw its way out of her mind, cutting and tearing along the way. Her vision went black.  
  
 _—She was blind—They had wrapped a cloth around her eyes—Her hands and feet were bound with rope tightly enough that the rough thread was digging into her skin—She felt pain, sharp and bitter—They had broken her arm—snapped her wrists and the little bones of her fingers—They knew too much—She could not draw upon her power while her body healed—How did they know?—Who had told them?—Despite the pain, she struggled against them—Heard one of them curse—and then there was fresh pain as one of her captors drove his fist into her face—she heard the crunch—felt the pain of her broken nose—She could smell her own blood—It almost masked the heavy scent of the roses around her—_  
  
Wraith gasped, her lungs dragging in the bitterly cold air, as her vision cleared once more. She was still kneeling on the ground, her head between her hands. Moving slowly, she made herself stand again. She focused on what she had just felt, the sharp memory of the pains. Wraith lifted her hands and flexed her fingers to assure herself that they were not broken. She could still feel a trace of the phantom pain—could still smell the blood and roses—  
  
 _The roses._    
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed as she looked around her at the dead rose bushes that made up the Maze.  _My dream—It happened_  here  _at the Manor. This is where I was brought_. She struggled to remember what few details the dream had given her, to combine them with what she had experienced out here. — _A terrible pain in her heart––Why was he doing this?––The glint of silver as the blade pierced her arm––_  
  
Wraith winced as she felt a shadow of the headache hit her again. She wanted to remember—but it was painful. It was as if some part of her didn't want to know.   
  
She couldn't stay there anymore. Wraith wrapped herself within the coils of her power, clutching at it like a blanket, and Disapparated.  
  
Harper started when he saw her appear suddenly beside him and he quickly became visible again. "What happened?" he asked at once, seeing how she shook.   
  
"I was right," she said softly, "There are answers to be found here. I'm just not sure if I want them."   
  
  
  
  
The townhouse was well lit, the lights pouring out onto the dark street from the windows. The trio of cloaked figured hurried up the front steps inside, keeping half an eye behind them to make sure there was no one watching. The air was warm inside, soft scents of flowers surrounding them.   
  
"Nice place," Ron said, lowing the hood of his cloak and looking around.   
  
"I wonder how we got it, though," Hermione said, peering down the hall.   
  
"Something to ask McGonagall," Harry said, shrugging, "Come on."   
  
They made their way upstairs, finding their former professor in a little room she had turned into an office. At first sight of her, the trio realized that something was very wrong. "Professor McGonagall?" Hermione said, knocking on the open door to signal their presence.   
  
The woman looked up, her face wane. "Kingsley Shacklebolt didn't report in."  
  
Harry let out a fervent curse and turned away.   
  
"He's been missing for several days now," McGonagall added.   
  
"You don't think he's…" Ron's question tailed off into silence.   
  
"I fear the worst," McGonagall told them flatly, "Last week the Order received information that the Wraith had been set on his path. The last time Kingsley was seen was at the Leaky Cauldron. Tom said that the Wraith arrived there—and he has not been seen since."   
  
"Wait," Harry said, turning back, "when was this exactly?"   
  
"Last Thursday," McGonagall said.   
  
Harry felt a cold hand wrap around his heart.   
  
"Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked.   
  
"That's the same night we went to Azkaban," he said, "Kingsley knew we were going there. Haven't you wondered how the Wraith knew?"   
  
Hermione paled and Ron went red, his jaw clenching.   
  
"It was only I and Kingsley that you told about your plans," McGonagall said, "Yes?"   
  
"Yeah," Harry said, "We figured you should know if something happened to us out there. We didn't tell anyone else."   
  
"You think that bitch tortured it out of him?" Ron asked heatedly.   
  
"I'd say that's a possibility," Harry said. He cursed again, putting a hand to his forehead, "I can't believe that didn't occur to us before."   
  
McGonagall came around her desk and grabbed Harry firmly by the shoulder. She looked terribly stern and Harry suddenly felt like he was in school again. "The Wraith found you at Azkaban," she said slowly, "and you didn't think that was important enough to tell me?"   
  
The trio looked abashed and none of them spoke up.   
  
McGonagall sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "What happened out there?"   
  
"We found a man locked up in the upper part of the prison," Harry told her, "He said…that he helped _create_  the Wraith and that he'd been locked up because he hurt her. We were going to let him out, find out what he did, what else he knew about her. She showed up."   
  
"She slashed open his face," Ron added, "She was bloody mad."   
  
"Who was he?" McGonagall asked.   
  
"He said his name was Dominic Gavin," Harry said.   
  
"Gavin," McGonagall murmured, "The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't place it."   
  
"He told us that he used to work for Azkaban, an overseer," Ron said.   
  
"Not a pleasant occupation," McGonagall said darkly, "and such a vocation didn't attract the most pleasant of men either. He knew the Wraith?"   
  
"He made her," Harry said, "or helped to."   
  
" _Made_?"   
  
"She's not human, Professor."   
  
"This…is disturbing, to say the least," McGonagall said.   
  
"No,  _he_  was disturbing," Hermione said sharply, looking up. "Professor, I was more frightened of that man than I was of the Wraith."   
  
"Hermione, you're joking," Ron said, "She cut open his face—she would have  _killed_  us!"   
  
"She was locked in Azkaban, Ron," Hermione said, "Gavin was an overseer. What do you suppose he did to her in there—when she was still ' _a helpless child_ '?"   
  
Ron opened his mouth—and then closed it, looking over at Harry.   
  
"Miss Granger, what do you mean?" McGonagall asked.   
  
Hermione sighed, looking pale. "That man, Gavin, he told Harry that he hurt the Wraith, but he didn't say how. Then the Wraith shows up and she's  _furious_. She said that Gavin couldn't hurt her anymore because she wasn't a helpless child anymore."   
  
Something clicked into place in McGonagall's mind and she uttered a sound as she covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Harry was staring at Hermione with horrified eyes before he had to look away.   
  
"What?" Ron asked, confused. Then his eyes widened. "Oh. Oh, god…"  
  
"It…it doesn't excuse what she's done," Harry said softly, though he still felt ill.   
  
"No," Hermione agreed, "But I can't help but agree with her that he belongs in that cell."   
  
"This does give a batch of new questions," McGonagall said after a moment, "If the girl is not human, then what is she? How was she created in the first place?"   
  
"What about 'why'?" Ron asked.   
  
"Oh, I'd say we know why," Harry said, "Look at the weapon she is, Ron. And I'd bet we don't even know the half of it."   
  
"Potter?"   
  
"The rumors about them are true, Professor," Harry said quickly.   
  
Something flashed in McGonagall's eyes and the woman's lips went thin. She crossed to the door, grabbing her cloak as she went. "There is someone I have to speak with," she said briskly, "You three stay here and get some rest."   
  
"Professor, how did we get this place?" Hermione asked before McGonagall could slip away. "I mean, I though we were out of safe-houses."   
  
"We've picked up a new ally," McGonagall replied, "Someone I believe we can trust." She glanced over the three of them, suddenly struck by how much they had been forced to grow up the last few years. There was little of the children they had been in them. She met Harry's eyes and she did not like the desperation she saw there. "You three," she said slowly, blinking rapidly, "You put too much weight on yourselves. There is little I could say or do to change that—but I wish you wouldn't."   
  
Hermione's lip quivered, but neither she nor the others said a word. McGonagall left, leaving them to that silence. Still not speaking, Hermione reached out and took hold of Ron's hand. He looked down at her and then stepped closer, wrapped an arm over her.   
  
"Life was a lot simpler when we could see things as black and white," Hermione murmured.   
  
Harry looked at his friends and suddenly felt very alone. He wanted to visit Shell Cottage—see Ginny—but he didn't dare.  
  
The three of them left McGonagall's office, making their way downstairs where they could hear people talking. Harry stopped short in the doorway of the living room.   
  
"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks said cheerfully. She was seated on the floor in front of the fireplace, Teddy in her lap.   
  
Lupin looked over from his chair and smiled tiredly.   
  
"Tonks," Harry said, "Remus. I thought you guys were at Shell Cottage."   
  
"Well, it was a bit crowded there," Lupin said, "Come in, sit down."   
  
Ron and Hermione sat on the couch, but Harry sat himself on the floor with Tonks and Teddy.   
  
"Hey, Teddy," he said gently.   
  
"'Arry!" the toddler said happily. The boy's hair was bright turquoise that evening, the shade outdoing his mother's usual pink.  
  
Sitting there, warm and safe, with Teddy babbling excitedly at him, Harry felt a bit of that weight lift.           
  
  
  
  
 _La Magia_  was in full disarray as usual when McGonagall arrived there. She stalked past Kale without a single word and the look on her face made the man hesitate to stop her. McGonagall went to the bar and spoke briskly to Hammond. "Where is she?"   
  
"Boss is upstairs," Hammond said, raising a brow. He gestured for her to join him behind the bar and opened the door to the second floor for her.   
  
McGonagall moved swiftly down the hall and pounded on Ms. Roz's door. The younger woman opened the door, blinking at McGonagall with surprised eyes.   
  
"Evening, Minerva," Ms. Roz said placidly, "What has your panties in a twist?"   
  
"Where—is— _Clara_?"   
  
"Ah," Ms. Roz said, understanding the woman's fury, "Our Clare was offered a new job…and she took it."   
  
"She went with the Wraith," McGonagall said, "and you  _let_  her?"   
  
"Clare may act rather young sometimes, but she isn't a child, Minerva," Ms. Roz said firmly, "I don't make her decisions for her." She cocked her head to one side and smirked, "So, how is Rowle?"   
  
The question made McGonagall blink. "Better than I expected," she admitted, "and better informed than I am, apparently."   
  
"Well, I'd imagine that Clare wrote to tell him about her new career," Ms. Roz said dryly, "I can't imagine why he didn't tell you."   
  
"Stop it," McGonagall snapped, "This isn't a game, Fallon. This isn't some kind of  _joke_. I cannot see why you seem so very amused by it all!"   
  
"Clara is safe," Ms. Roz said, all humor gone from her striking face, "That is my greatest concern, Minerva, that my friends and children are safe. Whatever Wraith is, she's loyal. Not to us and there lies the danger to us, but she is loyal to those she cares about. That includes Rowle and Clara."   
  
"And the Dark Lord."   
  
"Are you so certain of that?" Ms. Roz asked softly.   
  
McGonagall blinked and realized that she had no answer.   
  
"You dislike being in the dark," Ms. Roz said, her voice still gentle, "and so you become angry. I understand, Minerva."   
  
"She's killed Kingsley Shacklebolt," McGonagall said.   
  
"Has she? His body's been found?"   
  
When McGonagall didn't answer, a small smirk appeared on the other woman's face.   
  
"Well," she said, "Isn't that interesting."   
  
"What do you know that you aren't telling me?" McGonagall asked.   
  
"Hm," Ms. Roz murmured, considering the woman, "You know…I think you're ready to hear it. But I need a promise from you, Minerva, that what I tell you here, you will not share." Ms. Roz held out her hand.   
  
McGonagall hesitated, but she was tired of Ms. Roz's knowing looks and smirks. "Very well," she said, taking her hand, "You have my promise."  
  
Ms. Roz stepped back and gestured, "Come on in," she said, brightly. McGonagall stepped into the room and started slightly when she realized that there was someone else there.   
  
A youthful man of about seventeen sat in front of a small fireplace and he grinned at the sight of her surprise. "Evening," he said, a slight accent to his welcome, "Minerva McGonagall, I presume. How lovely to meet you."   
  
"And you are?"   
  
"Janesch Vivaldi," the youth replied, bowing his head.   
  
"Minerva, allow me to introduce my old family friend," Ms. Roz said.   
  
"I beg your pardon?"   
  
Ms. Roz and Janesch shared an amused look.   
  
"I'm a bit older than I look," Janesch said. He grinned again and McGonagall saw the flash of his fangs. "Come," he said, "Sit down. I promise I won't bite."   
  
McGonagall decided that she didn't like his humor. But she sat nonetheless.   
  
  
  
  
The night was full and dark and deep around the Manor. Up in Wraith's tower, she and Clara were sleeping deeply in that dark. Clara had her arm wrapped over Wraith, cuddling against the girl's back.   
  
But her peaceful sleep broke when she felt a hand upon her shoulder. Clara blinked, confused, for Wraith was still sleeping beside her. She turned slightly and let out a small squeak.   
  
Voldemort stood at the edge of the bed, looking passively down at her. He gestured to the door and Clara moved slowly off of the bed, being careful not to wake Wraith. She grabbed a robe and pulled it on as quickly as she could. She bowed briefly to the Dark Lord before she ducked out of the tower.   
  
Her heart was beating like that of a frightened rabbit as she practically ran down the twisting steps, but when she reached the hall, she had managed to calm herself a bit. She didn't need to even guess at what the Dark Lord wanted from his Wraith so late at night, though she did wonder briefly where he had been all day.   
  
Not knowing what else to do, Clara found her way to Harper's room a few floors down. She lifted a hand to knock on the door and then changed her mind. The door was unlocked, so she slipped in as quietly as she could. Harper was sprawled out over his bed, breathing deep in sleep.   
  
Clara knelt by the bed and reached out to touch his arm. "Tony?" she whispered.   
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"I got kicked out of the tower," Clara told him, "You-Know-Who wanted some time with Wraith. Can I stay with you?"   
  
"Hm. Yeah," Harper said sleepily, moving over. He patted the bed beside him and Clara crawled in under the covers. She was surprised when Harper threw his arm over her. "No funny stuff," he told her firmly, "But you can sleep here whenever you need to."   
  
"Thanks, Tony," Clara said. She curled up against him and was asleep much faster than she expected.   
  
  
  
  
Back up in the tower, Voldemort moved softly across the floor, locking the door and slipping out his robes. He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to run his hand over Wraith's face. She stirred, but did not wake. Smiling, amused, he moved closer, leaning down to brush his mouth at her neck, his hand slipping under the covers and her nightgown.   
  
Wraith woke, her eyes fluttering at his touch. She smiled at him, soft and sweet and drew him closer, taking his mouth with hers. It was a blue fire between them, calm and urgent at the same time. Voldemort pushed up the hem of her nightgown and she wrapped her legs around him, taking him in. Her breath was soft and cool on his skin and morphed into small cries as he urged them both to peak.   
  
A terrible need filled him, with this generous creature wrapped around him, and he felt himself go over as she did.   
  
Wraith made a small, soft sound and she nipped at his ear with her teeth. She held him close, his weight almost a comfort to her, and she ran gentle hands over his shoulders.   
  
Voldemort allowed her to hold him so, laying his head at her breast. Her heart was beating fast, her skin tinged with sweat, but as he listened, her heart became calm again. He was almost lulled to sleep by the soothing beat of it. But he forced himself to pull away nonetheless.   
  
Wraith was reluctant to let him go, but her hands slipped away from. "Stay," she said softly, breaking the silence around them, "I'm rather out of the habit of sleeping alone."   
  
"I threw your servant out," Voldemort told her, though he rested comfortably beside her, "It wouldn't be kind to make her sleep in the hall."   
  
"She won't," Wraith replied, "I'm sure she went right to Harper. Where have you been all day?" she asked.   
  
"Hunting," he said simply. He moved a little closer, putting his arm over her waist. "What did my Wraith do today without me?"   
  
"I went riding," she said, her voice sleepy, "…played chess with Harper…missed you."   
  
"Somehow I doubt that," Voldemort said, but his voice was amused.   
  
Wraith smirked, running her hand over his arm. Even as she smiled at him, Wraith felt a surge of pure fury burning hot under her cool skin.   
  
 _I know you are hiding something from me. I know that there is more to me than you've confessed. And I hate you for it._  
  
Wraith turned on her side and curled herself against him, placing gentle kisses on his chest.   
  
"Oh, pet, don't," he breathed when he felt her teeth.   
  
"Stop me," she challenged, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. She smiled again, but there was a darker edge to it, and her eyes seemed to glow in the shadow.  
  
 _Liar, liar, liar. I will strip this place bare to find what you are hiding from me._  
  
Wraith bent down and set her teeth at the pulse in his throat and Voldemort felt fresh hunger stir in him. Wraith ran her hands over him and he felt no need to stop her.   
  
"Tell me," she whispered, her mouth brushing his, "I've this bitter need for you—have you one for me?"   
  
"Are you asking if I love you, pet?" he asked incredulously, "Haven't we had this conversation? — _Ah_!" he cried out as she bit his lip.  
  
"I know you do not love me," she told him, her lips working down his neck as her hands explored. "I do not love you. But I need you."   
  
The bond between them burned brightly and Voldemort felt the warmth of her power slipping under his skin. "I've a need for you," he told her, his breath catching, "My Wraith."   
  
"Oh, I like those words from your lips," she whispered darkly, "…Say them again."


	81. Behind Shadow

_"...He began to understand darkness: darkness as something solid and real, so much more than a simple absence of light. He felt it touch his skin, questing, moving, exploring: gliding through his mind. It slipped into his lungs, behind his eyes, into his mouth..."_  
  
  
  
  
Snape was rather surprised when Wraith contacted him through the mirror in his office, but he couldn't say he wasn't pleased. But he saw the shadows under the girl's eyes and wondered.   
  
"The Dark Lord is away from the Manor again," she was saying, "Could you come and see me?"  
  
"I've nothing else to do," Snape replied, raising a brow, "Are you alright?" he felt compelled to ask.   
  
"I'm well enough," Wraith told him, smiling slightly at his concern, "I've much to tell you when you get here."   
  
"And what have you been up to?"   
  
"I went into the Rose Maze yesterday."   
  
…   
  
"I'll be there momentarily."   
  
  
  
  
When Snape arrived at the Manor, Wraith was waiting for him on the front steps. Seeing him, she stepped down and hurried to meet him. She held out a hand to him and he didn't hesitate to take it, though his eyes did glance up towards the Dark Lord's tower.   
  
"He's not here," Wraith told him, "Harper is downstairs in the drawing room, Clara is in my tower. They're both playing guard against his return to the Manor."   
  
"And what exactly do you need guards for?" Snape asked dryly.   
  
The look in Wraith's eyes did not give him any comfort. "Yesterday, I disobeyed our Lord," she said, "and ventured into the Rose Maze."   
  
"Did you find something of interest?"   
  
"Of a sort," Wraith replied with a sharp sort of smile, "It was the roses that gave it away, Severus. The smell of roses from my autumn nightmares."   
  
Snape's eyes sharpened and lit towards the Maze. "You're saying that those roses...are the ones from your dream?"   
  
"I had a flash of memory in the Maze, Severus. A very painful one," she added softly, touching a hand to her head, "It was as if it was pulled violently out of my mind from wherever it had been buried. I saw the dream again, only with more details. The two men that kidnapped me...they'd broken my arm, my wrist, and all the bones in my fingers. They did this so that  _I could not use my powers_. They knew, Severus, and they shouldn't have. And they brought me  _here_."  
  
"Have you any further clue about what those dreams really were?" Snape asked her, "I had thoughts on reincarnation, but..."   
  
"I don't know," Wraith said, "I don't know how to explain them or any of the other flashes I've had. But whatever they are, they're connected deeply to this Manor. I had no visions, no out of place memories, before I came here."   
  
"So, it is here that your answers lie."   
  
"No," Wraith said, catching him off guard. She tapped a finger to her temple. "My answers are  _here_. This place gives me what I need to bring them to the surface."   
  
"What do you intend to do?" Snape asked.   
  
"Follow my dreams," Wraith said with a wry smile.   
  
"I beg your pardon?"   
  
"My summer dreams," Wraith explained, "I was kept in some sort of dungeon. And when the Dark Lord first brought me here—"  _When he brought me here to kill.._. "--I fainted at the top of the dungeon stair."   
  
"You intend to search the dungeons. When?"   
  
"Now," Wraith told him, "while he is away."   
  
"And how might  _I_  be of help?"  
  
"I wanted you here."   
  
Snape looked down at her, saw the fear plain in her eyes, and he lifted a hand to cradle her cheek. "I am here," he said.   
  
Wraith closed her eyes and breathed in. Then she nodded briskly and turned, walking back up to the Manor. Snape stayed in her shadow as they crossed the entrance hall.   
  
"Stay close, but not close enough to arouse the suspicions of the prisoners below," she said when they reached the door that led down to the dungeons.   
  
"I understand."   
  
"Give me…half an hour," she decided, her hand upon the door, "If I don't return within that time…come and find me."   
  
"I will," Snape promised, "Wraith…be careful."   
  
His words made her pause a moment longer and she glanced up at him. Snape met her gaze steadily.   
  
"You do not yet know what you will find in those dark little corners of your mind," he told her, his voice low, "Wraith—you felt yourself  _die_. Don't allow whatever is down there to destroy you."   
  
Wraith stared at him. For a moment, Snape saw only a frightened child where she stood—but something in her hardened and she nodded once, a sharp motion. She pulled open the door and disappeared through it. The sound of it closing behind her seemed unusually heavy.   
  
Wraith descended the stairs slowly, extending her power as she went. She felt the chill of it along her skin as it flowed out from her, searching the dark stone that surrounded her. She felt every prisoner locked below on alert, no doubt signaled of her approach by the sound of the door above.   
  
"What do you want?" Bill Weasley demanded as she passed in front of his cell.   
  
Wraith paused, turning her head slightly to see him. "Calm yourself, precious—I'm not here for  _you_."   
  
"Then why are you here?" she heard Arthur ask.   
  
"I'm looking for something," she replied lightly, continuing to the very back of the dungeon.   
  
"May I ask what?"   
  
"I don't know yet."   
  
She raised a hand, pressing it to the stone wall. She closed her eyes, frowning slightly. Her power sunk deep into the rock, slipping down under the ground beneath her feet. Wraith felt her heart clench when her powers tasted frigid air below. She turned away from the wall, her eyes searching the floor of the dungeon. She took a step forward and knelt down, laying her hand on one stone in particular. She was not at all surprised when it gave beneath her weight. There was a small tremor and she stood, quickly stepping back.   
  
"What's going on?" someone called out. It might have been Vaisey.  
  
Wraith lifted her eyes and realized that where she stood was somewhere that the prisoners could not see from their cells. She did not reply to the question. A section of stone sunk down slightly and then pulled back, revealing a secret door, leading further into the foundation beneath the Manor.   
  
As she had before the Rose Maze, Wraith hesitated to enter that dark place. There was a narrow stone stair that would take her there—and she had no doubts that there was something there for her to find. Wraith looked up, her eyes seeking the door out—but it was out of her sight.   
  
"Lady Death, you still with us?"   
  
That voice caught Wraith's attention. She was able to smile just a little. "Never you mind, Horace," she called back, "If you all value your lives, then you won't even recall that I was ever down here. Be quiet for me now."   
  
There was a soft pleading in her voice at that last and it was clearly heard by all. They fell silent. And Wraith stepped down in the darkness.     
  
The deeper Wraith went, the heavier the air seemed to become. She was having trouble breathing properly and that did nothing to help the abate the panic she felt. The dark was oppressing, enough even that Wraith's keen night vision could not penetrate it. She lifted a hand, calling forth blue flame.   
  
For a moment, Wraith stood on the stair. She could see where the steps finally ended, could make out the room a little. Looking up, Wraith realized that she must have been at least fifty feet below the dungeon. Whoever had built this place wanted it well hidden.   
  
There was a torch in a bracket on the wall to Wraith's left. She held the blue flame to it and true light illuminated the room. Wraith took down the torch and went down those last few steps. The room, Wraith judged, was not much larger than her cell at Azkaban had been, though the ceiling seemed impossibly high.   
  
In the very center was a stone table, a little above waist height, long enough for a body to be laid. Wraith went to examine it closer, seeing the top was all but covered with a dark stain. Not knowing why, she reached out to touch the stone—and something inside her  _screamed_  in fury. Something inside her broke. With a gasp of pain, Wraith dropped the torch and clutched her head with both hands.   
  
 _Blackened with my/our blood!_    
  
Wraith felt the sting of blood running down the sides of her face from where her fingernails dug into her skin.   
  
 _Betrayer! Murderer! What he did to me/us! Kill him! Strike! Strike!_    
  
Wraith screamed, short and cutting, venting the phantom fury.   
  
The torch went out.   
  
She felt the rage dissipate, leaving only her own thoughts alone in her mind. Gasping for breath in the stale air, Wraith felt around for the torch. Her fingers brushed over it and she grabbed it. Lighting it again, Wraith rose to her knees, confused, because she didn't remember falling in the dark. Shaking, she stood, lifting the torch.   
  
But she almost dropped it again when she saw the shadowed figure of a man standing in the corner of the room. Wraith backed away slowly, stopping only when her back it the wall. Raising the torch higher, she tried to make out the figure's face, all the time wondering if he was only in her mind.   
  
 _Little bird_ , she heard it as a low whisper in her ear.   
  
 _Strike! See what he's done! Our blood! Our power!_  
  
Wraith felt as if her heart was trying to tear itself from her chest, it was beating so fast.   
  
 _Little bird, little bird, why do you cry?_  
  
Wraith felt the tears on her cheek. She wasn't herself in that moment. She didn't know who she was. She didn't know  _what_  she was.   
  
 _Little bird_ , the whisper was cruel, taunting,  _Why do you cry?_  
  
"The world has given me wings, but not taught me to fly."   
  
Wraith heard herself speak the words, felt them pass through her lips, but she did not know where they had come from and even what they meant.  
  
 _Little bird, little bird, how do you sleep?_  
  
For an instant, Wraith lost sight of the figure. Her eyes darted around, panicked. "Fearful of what the morning will reap," she replied automatically, "— Where are you?  _Who_  are you?"   
  
 _Little bird, little bird, what will you do?_  
  
She felt a breath on her neck and she screamed, pushing away from the wall. She fell back against the stone table, holding the torch in her hand like a weapon.   
  
 _Little bird, little bird, for what do you bleed?_  
  
An unseen hand touched the blood on her cheek and she froze where she stood. She couldn't move, couldn't speak. The hand that brushed her cheek wrapped around her throat, ice cold and hard as stone. She tried to scream, but the sound was trapped in her throat. She felt that breath on her neck again and couldn't run. She cried, the tears mingling with the blood on her skin.   
  
 _Little bird, little bird, how will you die?_  
  
The grip around her neck loosened and it felt like it was waiting for her reply. Wraith drew in air thankfully and she felt the fury in her rise again.   
  
"Not  _here_!" she screamed, throwing power out from herself.   
  
Light filled the room and she was the center of it, blazing like a sun. There was an inhuman snarl and Wraith then knew that she was alone.   
  
The light dimmed to nothing, but the storm of rage and fear inside her remained. Wraith held herself in, trying to calm it, but to no avail.   
  
She screamed.   
  
  
  
  
  
Snape paced before the dungeon door, watching the time as if it were a hated enemy. But not even fifteen minutes had passed since Wraith had left him. So, he paced. When the time reached twenty minutes, Snape found himself pressing his ear to the door. There was some faint sound that he could not completely make out.   
  
He started, and cursed himself for it, when the drawing room door burst open. Harper came running at him full speed, his face twisted in distress.   
  
"Something's wrong," the young man said hurriedly, pushing past Snape to the dungeon door, "Something's very, very wrong."   
  
Snape overtook Harper down the stairs, feeling an edge of panic when he didn't immediately see Wraith below. "Wraith?" he called, hurrying past the cells.   
  
"Down at the end," came a voice from one of them.   
  
Snape paused, even as Harper shot past him. "Horace," he said.   
  
"Severus," Slughorn replied, "The girl went to the back of the dungeon. There was a flash of light not a minute ago--and I believe I heard her scream."   
  
"Snape!" Harper shouted, "There's a passage in the floor here!"   
  
Snape gave Slughorn a short nod before he joined Harper. The passage held nothing but darkness to Snape's eyes. He took out his wand, lighting the end. He and Harper went down the narrow stair as quickly as they could. Down at the bottom, they found more darkness--until Snape's light fell on Wraith's unconscious form.   
  
"Wraith!" he exclaimed, kneeling beside her.   
  
She lay on her stomach, her face hidden by the curtain of her hair. Lying on the ground, mere inches from her hand, was an unlit torch. Snape turned Wraith over onto her back, being as gentle as he could.   
  
Harper started to kneel beside them, but then paused. He straightened, holding his own lit wand over the stone table in the center of the room.   
  
Snape's heart was stilled by the sight of blood on Wraith's face. There was no trace of any wound--But Snape then saw the blood under Wraith's fingernails and understood. "Let's get her away from here," he said to Harper. "What are you doing there, boy?" he demanded when he saw Harper examining the table.  
  
"Professor Snape?" Harper said, his strained voice recalling a time when he could simply refer to an adult for the difficult answers, "I...I think this is blood."   
  
Loath as he was to leave Wraith's side, Harper's words could not be ignored, so Snape stood and looked at the table's surface. His eyes narrowed. "Blood it could be, but very  _old_  blood." He lifted his gaze, searching the room. "It could even be as old as this very Manor, for all we know. I shudder to think of what this room was used for."  _And what it has to do with Wraith._  "Come," he said, kneeling by Wraith's side again, "Lead the way," he instructed Harper. He lifted the girl up in his arms.   
  
It was slow going back up the stair, Wraith was limp as a rag doll in Snape's arms. Both Harper and Snape breathed something of a sigh of relief when they reached the dungeon again.   
  
"Tony?" Clara had just reached the bottom of the dungeon stairs and was rushing towards them. "What happened? Is she okay?"   
  
"She'll be alright," Snape said.  _I hope._    
  
Clara was pale as she took in the sight of Wraith's fragile form. But she nodded quickly, turning on her heel and bounding back up the stairs. She held open the door for Snape to pass through, Harper now a step behind him.  
  
"Let's get her to the tower," Harper said, "The Dark Lord can't see her like this."   
  
"Agreed," Snape said.   
  
  
  
  
A short while later, Wraith was laid in the comfort of her bed. Snape was pacing again, this time before the fireplace. Harper had seated himself on the couch, his eyes flitting between Wraith and Snape. Clara was lying on the bed beside Wraith, her eyes wide and worried.   
  
"Harper," Snape said, coming to a stop, "How did you and Miss Bauman know that something was wrong?"   
  
Harper blinked. "It was this," he said, holding up his hand. He pulled back his sleeve to reveal the bracelet Wraith had given him for protection. "It...it started to burn."   
  
"It went white-hot," Clara added, sitting up and brushing stray tears from her face, "It felt like my whole arm was on fire."   
  
"A call for help?" Snape mused, glancing at Wraith's still form.   
  
"Probably an unconscious one," Harper said, "Something down there panicked her, sent her into this shock. Clare, you ought to be writing a letter."   
  
Clara blinked, confused, but then she gasped, scrambling up from the bed. Snape watched as she pulled out a bit of parchment and scrawled a note down.   
  
"And just who is it that she must write to?" Snape asked, raising a brow.   
  
Clara paused and she and Harper shared a pointed look. They said nothing. But in that silence, an owl began to beat against one of the windows. Clara ran to the window, grateful for the distraction. The owl flew in and dropped its letter into Clara's hand.   
  
"He beat us to it," she said after she had opened it. She set the letter down and jotted a quick reply before folding it up and offering it back to the owl.   
  
"Bauman," Snape said sharply, stepping towards her, "Who sent that letter?"   
  
Clara bit her lip, unable to look at him. To Snape's surprise, Harper was suddenly standing between the two of them. The young man's face was set in unfamiliar hard lines. Harper then smiled…just slightly.   
  
"If you don't already know," he said, "…Then our Lady doesn't think you need to."   
  
 _Huh. Perhaps you_  have  _chosen your soldiers well, child_ , Snape thought, glancing towards where Wraith lay.    
  
On the bed, Wraith stirred, drawing focus from whatever verbal battle Snape and Harper had been prepared to engage in. Clara quickly released the owl out the window and then practically fell on the bed next to Wraith. "Hey," she said, pressing a hand to Wraith's cheek, "You with us?"   
  
"Think so," Wraith murmured. Her eyes were clouded as she looked around.   
  
"You gave us quite a scare," Harper told her as her eyes reached him.   
  
"I'm sorry," Wraith said, her voice still muddled. All at once, her eyes suddenly sharpened. "Parchment," she said, "Get me a piece of parchment."   
  
Clare tumbled off the bed to comply. Wraith sat up, taking the parchment and quill from Clara. She wrote swiftly, getting dots of ink all over her hands. It was only when she was finished that she spoke again.   
  
"I didn't want to lose it," she said, looking around at their confused faces.   
  
"Lose what exactly?" Snape asked, moving closer. In reply, Wraith held out the paper to him. Reaching around Harper, who didn't seem willing to step aside, Snape took the paper from her hand. He read, felt a chill though he didn't know why.   
  
 _Little bird, little bird, why do you cry?  
Little bird, little bird, how do you sleep?  
Little bird, little bird, what will you do?  
Little bird, little bird, for what do you bleed?  
Little bird, little bird, how will you die?_  
  
"What is this?" Snape asked, his voice low.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith said, "But I keep hearing it."   
  
"Wraith, what happened down there below the dungeon?" Snape asked her.   
  
Wraith closed her eyes, bowing her head. "Clare, Antony, will you give us a moment?"   
  
Neither looked happy at the gentle order, but Clara leaned over and pressed her lips to Wraith's hair and smiled slightly. "Sure," she said, "Come on, Tony."   
  
Harper hesitated, still standing partially between Wraith and Snape. He tilted his head slightly to the side and Snape met his eyes again. The boy smiled again and Snape thought the expression looked familiar—but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. With the familiar smile, Harper inclined his head slightly and followed Clara out of the room.   
  
Wraith pressed a hand to her head as she carefully climbed out of bed. "I found that room beneath the dungeon," she said slowly, "I started to reach out, to touch that stone table there, and I felt…I felt like there was someone else inside my head…and she was  _furious_. This voice was  _screaming_  at me. It's all muddled in my head now," she murmured, "But Severus, her screams  _hurt_. I—I dropped the torch. When I relit it, I saw a man standing in the corner of the room."   
  
Snape moved closer to her, reaching out a hand. "What was it?" he asked, "A ghost?"   
  
"Or a memory," Wraith said, "Severus, it was the same presence I felt haunting me when I first lived here in the Manor. I'm afraid of him, I'm not even sure why. I don't know what it  _wants_  from me."   
  
"You've said before that you haven't felt its presence much since you returned here from Hogwarts," Snape reminded her.   
  
"I haven't," Wraith said honestly, "There was that day in August, when I used to have that nightmare, but other than that…nothing. Until I went down in that room."   
  
"Did you see his face?" Snape asked.   
  
"Not clearly," Wraith admitted, "He just…stood there at first. I heard his voice, speaking that," she added, pointing to the parchment. "Sev, it isn't those questions that scared me. What scared me is that I had the answers."   
  
Feeling uneasy, Snape picked up the parchment.   
  
"… 'Little bird, little bird, why do you cry?'"   
  
"The world has given me wings, but not taught me to fly."   
  
Snape felt a shiver course down his spine.   
  
"'Little bird, little bird, how do you sleep?'"   
  
"Fearful of what the morning will reap."   
  
"'Little bird, little bird, what will you do?"   
  
"Bury my soul to hide it from you."   
  
Snape dropped the parchment, not wanting to know the answers to the last two. "What the Hell does this all mean?" he asked crossly.   
  
"I don't know," Wraith whispered. She turned her head sharply, cursing under her breath, "Voldemort's returned."   
  
"You've blood still on your hands and face, child."   
  
Wraith lifted her hand, passing them over each other and then reached up to her face. The blood vanished, as did the dark circles beneath her eyes. "Better?" she asked, with a smirk.   
  
"Much," Snape said, "I'll leave you to him."  
  
"Sev," she said, putting her hand on his arm, "Thank you for being here."   
  
"Of course," he said, "As I said, I'd nothing better to do."   
  
Wraith gave him a swift grin, looking more like herself again.   
  
Snape took his leave and Wraith waited patiently to see if the Dark Lord would take his place. She didn't have to wait long. She was standing at the window when she felt his presence at her door. Wraith turned and started to call to him, to tell him that the door was unlocked, but before she could speak, Voldemort entered without invitation.   
  
Wraith shrugged off the slight insult she felt and offered him a smile. "My Lord," she said, crossing to him, "Been hunting again?"   
  
"Yes," Voldemort said slowly, looking down at her.   
  
"Anything I could help with?" she asked with an arched brow.   
  
Voldemort didn't reply, but he touched a hand to her arm, slowly caressing it as he stepped a little closer to her. Wraith tilted her head back in invitation to him. Voldemort leaned down, brushing his lips lightly over hers.   
  
"Where have you been wandering, little bird?" he whispered against her lips.   
  
Wraith jerked back, but Voldemort had wrapped his hand tight around her arm, trapping her in his grip. "Let go," she told him. She could feel that foreign fury rising in her, urging her to strike out, but she fought against it. Something was wrong here.   
  
"Never again," Voldemort replied.   
  
His voice seemed to echo oddly—and Wraith felt herself go cold when she realized that she was hearing someone else's voice speaking with his mouth. She felt weak, helpless, and she sent out a silent cry to Harper and Clara, praying they were close by.   
  
"You're hurting me," Wraith murmured, stalling for time. Her words were not a lie, the Dark Lord's grip was painfully tight now. But Voldemort only smiled and he leaned down again to kiss her. Wraith pulled back from him. "No," she said firmly.   
  
The briefest scowl crossed his face and he pulled her against him. Wraith reached for the dagger at her belt and pulled it free. To both of their surprise, she pressed the tip of the dagger to Voldemort's throat.   
  
"Let go of me," she repeated.   
  
"…I have always admired your spirit, little bird," Voldemort said in that same echoing voice. Wraith hated herself, but she hesitated to hurt him.   
  
The door of her tower burst open and Voldemort snarled at the interruption. Harper didn't hesitated. Wand in hand, he sent a Stunning curse towards the Dark Lord. It missed, but Voldemort had to released his hold on Wraith to dodge it. Once free, Wraith ran to the doorway, grabbing Harper's hand and pulling him out of the room.   
  
They ran down the stairs, meeting Clara at the bottom. Wraith sheathed her dagger and grabbed Clara's arm with her free hand. Holding them both, Wraith closed her eyes and Disapparated with them.


	82. Shadows and Dust

_"You are cruel. We are well matched, you and I. I need your cruelty, just as you need mine."_  
  
  
  
  
They appeared quite suddenly on the front steps of Hogwarts. Harper and Clara took a moment to catch their breath, but Wraith sunk down to her knees, shaking badly.   
  
"Wraith!" Clara said, kneeling down beside her.   
  
"What happened back there?" Harper asked, "Did you and the Dark Lord fight about something?"   
  
"That wasn't him," Wraith whispered, "I wasn't fighting  _him_." She pushed herself back onto her feet, stumbling up the steps, "Let's get inside," she told them.   
  
They went in and immediately up the grand staircase in the entrance hall. Wraith stopped in front of the first inhabited painting she found.   
  
"Would you go to the Headmaster's office and tell him we're here?" she asked the painted woman inside.   
  
"Of course," the lady said, disappearing.   
  
"This way," Wraith told the others. "Where are we going?" Clara asked.   
  
"My rooms," Wraith replied.   
  
Once there, in the safety of her old rooms, Wraith was able to breathe again. She collapsed into the chair before the dark fireplace and buried her face in her hands. Clara and Harper shared a worried look and they sat down on the nearby couch.   
  
"What did you mean before?" Harper asked gently, "About it not being him?"   
  
"He…he wasn't right," Wraith murmured, lowering her hands, "Someone else was speaking through him. I could hear someone else's voice!"   
  
"Could it have something to do with what happened to you down in the dungeon?"   
  
"I think it has  _everything_  to do with it," Wraith said darkly.   
  
The three of them heard footsteps in the hall and a moment later, Snape knocked on the door. "Wraith," he said, stepping in, "What brings you here?"   
  
"I'm hiding," Wraith said dryly.   
  
"From the Dark Lord?"   
  
"Not exactly," she replied.   
  
Snape crossed to where Wraith sat, not sparing even a glance at the others, and knelt before her. "Are you alright?" he asked.   
  
"I am," Wraith said, "I wasn't hurt, just…shaken."   
  
"What happened?"   
  
"I stirred something down in that dungeon," Wraith said, "The Dark Lord came to me, but…he wasn't alone. Severus, when he spoke, I could hear another's voice coming from his mouth. He called me 'little bird'."  
  
Snape took her hand in his and she squeezed, thankful for him. "You'll remain here," he told her, his tone brooking no argument.   
  
"Where else would I go?" Wraith asked with a sad little smile.   
  
"Um," Clara said, "I'm going to bother the house-elves. My Lady, can I get you something? Some tea or something stronger?"   
  
"Tea would be wonderful, Clare," Wraith said, "Thank you."   
  
Clara stood and leaned over Wraith's chair. Wraith tilted her head up so that Clara could place a kiss on her forehead.   
  
Harper stood as well, taking a step back as Clara headed for the door. "I'm going to play 'guard' again," he told Wraith and Snape, "There's every chance that the Dark Lord will come looking for you. I'll just be out here in the hall." He tuned to catch up with Clara and Wraith heard him say to her, "Get something strong for me while you're down there, Clare."   
  
Wraith laughed under her breath at that, shaking her head. "Oh, it's been an impossible day, Sev," she said tiredly.   
  
"Agreed," Snape said, "Are you sure you're alright?"   
  
"Yes," she said.   
  
"Your ghost has grown quite bold."   
  
Wraith laughed bitterly. "True enough," she replied wryly, "I have to wonder how much the Dark Lord was aware of while he was being possessed. I don't want him to know about my explorations. I'm not done yet."   
  
"Even after this?" Snape asked, incredulous.   
  
"Especially after this," Wraith snapped sharply, "I'll be damned before I give up this search. I may have antagonized my personal phantom, but all that really tells me is that I'm on the right track."   
  
Snape stood, his expression still, but Wraith saw that his eyes were troubled. He took the chair across from her and gave her a pensive look. "Have you any further clue as to your ghost's identity?"   
  
Wraith was silent a moment, staring at nothing in particular. "…Only a guess," she all but whispered.   
  
"Which would be?"   
  
"Slytherin," Wraith said flatly, turning to look at him, "Salazar Slytherin himself. It could be one of his descendants—but my mind tells me it's him."   
  
"Salazar Slytherin," Snape said slowly, "What makes you think it's him—beyond the fact that he was the one who built the original Manor?"   
  
"He got into Voldemort," Wraith replied, "I've done reading on this subject, Severus," she added when he continued to look unconvinced, "It's quite possibly an option for what's wrong with  _me_."   
  
"There's nothing  _wrong_  with you," Snape argued bitingly.   
  
"Oh, there is  _plenty_  wrong with me, Severus," Wraith said with a grin, "Do I really need to remind you with whom I am sharing my nights?"   
  
Snape sneered at that and did not deign to reply.   
  
"Let's say, just as a supposition, that a thousand years ago, Salazar Slytherin had a woman locked away in the Manor and she died under his hand. My dreams tell me that I died down in that stone room below the dungeon, Severus. Perhaps there were  _two_  ghosts haunting Slytherin Manor. Maybe the reason that I am being stalked by one is that the other is inside me… and he wants her back." She sighed, leaning back into her chair. "Maybe Voldemort and I are just new actors for an old play."  
  
There was a sudden shout out in the hall. Wraith and Snape leapt to their feet and Wraith ran for the door. She threw it open to see the Dark Lord coming down the hall, saw him throw a curse at Harper. Harper dodged the flash of light, but did not send one in return. Wraith stepped between them, throwing up a hand to stop the next curse. She caught the light in the center of her palm and tossed it back in the Dark Lord's direction. In the same fluid motion, she ushered Harper back into the room, closing the door behind them.  
  
"Keep away," she told him and Snape, her eyes on the door.   
  
A moment later, Voldemort pounded heavily on the door, and Wraith couldn't stop herself from flinching. "Open this door!" the Dark Lord demanded.   
  
Wraith took a breath. "Open it yourself," she snapped at him.   
  
There was a moment's pause, as if Voldemort had not been expecting that answer. In that brief silence, Wraith backed away from the doorway until she stood slightly behind Harper and Snape near the fireplace. The door slowly edged open and Voldemort stepped inside, his furious eyes lighting on Harper.   
  
Wraith studied him, her eyes narrowed. She sighed, some of the tension leaving her body. "It's him," she whispered to Harper, "only him."   
  
Harper nodded slightly and lowered his wand, bowing his head to the Dark Lord. His gesture of compliance did not appease Voldemort.   
  
"You raised your wand to your Lord,  _boy_ ," he hissed, advancing.   
  
"To protect his Lady," Wraith said sharply, stepping forward. "Get out, the both of you," she said to Harper and Snape.   
  
"I did not give my permission for them to leave," Voldemort snarled.   
  
"Do you really want to have this conversation before an audience?" Wraith asked him, her voice dry as stone.   
  
That gave Voldemort pause. His eyes narrowed and he nodded tersely. Snape and Harper moved past him and out of the room, closing the door after them.   
  
Wraith hesitated, her eyes never leaving Voldemort's face. She took a slow step forward…and then she all but ran to him, shocking him by taking his face in her hands. "Gods, you frightened me," she told him, "But I'm glad to see you."   
  
"What are you talking about?" Voldemort demanded.   
  
"What do you remember?" she asked in turn.   
  
Voldemort did not immediately reply. A look of unease passed over his face. "I returned to the Manor—went to your tower—and your Harper tried to  _curse_  me," he sneered.   
  
"Do you remember what you said?" Wraith asked, her voice cutting, "—What you called me?"   
  
"I…no," Voldemort admitted, "It isn't clear."   
  
"You were not yourself," Wraith told him, stroking his cheek, "I called for help and Harper answered me. He was protecting me. I will have you harm him for that."   
  
Voldemort pushed her away with a hiss. "You speak as though you have a say in my actions," he spat.   
  
"When it comes to  _my_  servants—I do," Wraith snarled. Voldemort started to argue further, but Wraith cut him off before he could speak. "You _lied_  to me!" she accused.   
  
"What?"  
  
"'One of my blood should not cower in the face of a ghost and a few whispers'," she hissed, " _Paranoia_ , you called it, mere shadows. You claimed that I was simply sensitive to the old magicks of the Manor. You  _lied_. You  _knew_  there was something in that Manor, something that was haunting me! And no  _mere shadow_  could have been powerful enough to get under your skin and  _control_  your actions!"   
  
Voldemort looked at her, his face unreadable. "I suspected," he said at last.   
  
Wraith laughed, the sound sharp as glass. "Again, you  _lie_ ," she said, "I know you well enough to know when you lie and lie badly at that. You had plans to send me here to Hogwarts before the incident at Tzadik's tower. You didn't want me in the Manor come June. Don't deny it," she snapped when he started to speak, "Don't you dare. Not after today."   
  
Voldemort looked ill at ease and he moved to sit in the chair before the fireplace. Wraith followed him, gesturing at the hearth and bringing forth a roaring fire. As the light and heat spilled over them both, Wraith stood before him, her eyes a silent accusation.   
  
"It's Salazar…isn't it?" she asked in a terse whisper.   
  
Voldemort's eyes snapped to hers and she knew that her guess had been right.   
  
"Who else could it have been?" she asked simply, "Who else would leave a shade strong enough to possess you? I can only assume that you are tied to this phantom by blood. You've a connection to him. He always left me alone whenever I was with _you_."   
  
"It could be no one else," Voldemort admitted, "His children did not reside in the Manor for very long and none of them died there."   
  
"Why not tell me this?" Wraith asked, "Why hide his identity from me?"   
  
"To give a name to something is sometimes to give it power," Voldemort replied, "I did not want him stirred further."   
  
"We have a problem," Wraith told him, "and  _you_  must be the one to deal with it. Your honored ancestor he may be, but I will _not_  return to that Manor to be haunted by that shade. I don't care who he is."   
  
"I will deal with it," Voldemort said, "You need not be concerned."   
  
He was frightened. Wraith could see the glimmer of it in his eyes and the way he would not meet her gaze.  _His control was taken from him. Of course it would frighten him._    
  
Wraith softened, looking at him. She moved closer, leaning down to touch his face. He did not respond to her touch, but nor did he pull away. "My Lord," Wraith murmured.   
  
Voldemort finally lifted his eyes to hers once more. He sighed, standing up. Wraith took a step back, watching his face. She held out a hand to him and waited. Voldemort took her hand and she pulled herself closer to his, throwing her other arm around his neck and swiftly pressing her lips to his. A desperate fire burned, scalding them both. Wraith bit down on his lip and pulled back.   
  
"I am yours," she told him, "I've no want to be shared with some lecherous phantom."   
  
Voldemort laughed at that, low and deep in his throat. "'Lecherous phantom'? Really, pet."    
  
Wraith grinned, tugging on the collar of his robes and pulling him towards the bedroom. "What can I say? I prefer my lechers living."   
  
  
  
  
Some time later, they lay together in Wraith's bed. She had her head resting upon his shoulder, her arm thrown over his chest, and he ran a hand over her dark hair.   
  
"Give me a few days here," Wraith whispered to him, "Just a few days of peace. I'll return to the Manor again after that."   
  
"You can have your respite," Voldemort told her, "But I do prefer to have you under the same roof as I."   
  
"Hm, I wonder why that is," Wraith said dryly, smirking at him. But as she looked at him, her smile faded. She touched a hand to his face, lifting herself up slightly to look down at him.   
  
"Don't lie to me again," she said softly, "I cannot stand the lies that spill from your lips. They always come back to hurt me."   
  
Voldemort did not answer.   
  
Wraith sighed, settling back down at the crook of his neck. "I need you," she whispered, "and you need me strong. You can't keep me ignorant and expect me to be strong. I am powerful, but I cannot fight that which I do not know."   
  
Still, Voldemort did not speak. But then, Wraith had not expected him to.    
  
  
  
  
  
When Voldemort took his leave of Hogwarts, Wraith called Harper back to her rooms. She was sitting in the window, staring out across the grounds. Harper crossed the room and knelt beside her, waiting.   
  
Wraith reached out to touch a fingertip to the bracelet he wore. "Follow him," she commanded, her voice low and dark.   
  
Harper nodded, his own face grave as he stood. He vanished from sight, protected by Wraith's gift.   
  
Wraith felt him leave, but said nothing more.   
  
  
  
  
  
Voldemort returned to the Manor, unaware of the fact that Harper was shadowing his footsteps. The Dark Lord moved with acute purpose through the Manor, and Harper followed him into an area of the Manor that he was completely unfamiliar with.   
  
Deep within the walls of the Manor, Harper realized that the room that Voldemort went to must have been directly below the Dark Lord's tower. It was circular, with no windows and no light until Voldemort lit the single candle sitting on a low table in the middle of it.   
  
As Harper watched, unseen and unheard, Voldemort placed his hands upon the table and spoke in a harsh whisper. "You cannot have her," he spat at nothing Harper could see, "She belongs to  _me_  now. _I_ raised her from the ashes of _your_  failure. You've lost all claim on her."   
  
A cold wind circled the room and Harper shivered at the malice behind it.   
  
"There will be no compromise. You will not _touch_  her. You will not use _me_  to do so!"   
  
Harper peered at something on the wall. It was almost as if Voldemort were speaking to it. Moving silently, he edged closer to the wall and saw that it was a portrait of a man.   
  
The painted man wore simple, stark robes of black, his hair and beard silver-gray, his face thin and pointed. There was an insignia at his heart and Harper was stunned to recognize the Slytherin crest.  _Is this…Salazar Slytherin? The founder of my house?_  
  
"If you attempt to use me again," Voldemort said, his voice still low, "I will burn this Manor down to its foundations. The legacy you built be damned. I am no man's puppet. Not even yours, my ancestor."   
  
Having spoken his peace, Voldemort turned suddenly and left the dark room, the candle blown by the door slamming shut behind him.   
  
Harper remained where he was a moment longer, his eyes still on the portrait. His Lady would be  _very_  interested to hear about this.


	83. Dark Is The Moon

_"She is a wild thing, like a hind or a summer storm. If a storm blows down your house, or breaks a tree, you don't say the storm was mean. It was cruel. It acted according to its nature and something unfortunately was hurt. The same is true of her."_  
  
  
  
  
When Harper returned to the castle, night had just begun to fall. With it came a chilling rain to replace the winter's snow. By the time he made it into the castle, his clothes were soaked through. He went back to Wraith's rooms, shivering all the way. Being cautious, he knocked on the door lightly before poking his head through. "My Lady?"   
  
Wraith was still at the window seat, staring out at the rain. "Come in, Antony," she called, not looking at him.   
  
Harper edged in, seeing Clara napping on the couch as he crossed to the window.   
  
"Did he return to the Manor?" Wraith asked when Harper knelt beside her seat.   
  
"Yes," Harper said, "I followed him to a room. I think it was set below his tower. The room wasn't hidden or anything, but it was out of the way."   
  
"What did he do?"   
  
"There was a portrait hanging on the wall," Harper said slowly, "He spoke, as if to it. I…I don't know for sure, but I think that the portrait was of Salazar Slytherin."   
  
"It is likely," Wraith said softly, her eyes flashing hot, "What did he say to Slytherin?"   
  
"He said…he said that you were his now, that Slytherin had no claim on you…" Harper closed his eyes a moment, doing his best to recall the exact phrase Voldemort had used. "The Dark Lord said that he had raised you from the ashes of Slytherin's failure."   
  
"The roses," Wraith murmured. " _He buried his secrets beneath the roses and they grew to help conceal them_." She laughed, low and bitter. "I guessed at the truth of the maze years ago, but never realized that it was  _my_  truth." She sighed, closing her eyes. "Thank you, Antony."   
  
Harper felt the sting of concern, gazing up at her. She had not once turned her eyes to him and he could all but feel the fury that was burning under her skin.   
  
"Have you eaten?"   
  
Wraith blinked and slowly shook her head. "I'm not hungry."  
  
"Pity," Harper said brightly, getting to his feet, "Because you're going to eat something."   
  
At last, Wraith looked at him, and although her gaze was annoyed and dismissive, Harper would take it. He grinned and cocked his head to the side. "I'll get Snape to back me up, if you like. You need to keep your strength up, my Lady, but we'll all do it for you if you won't."   
  
The bitterness in Wraith's eyes slowly faded and she lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry," she said gently, "You're right."   
  
Harper hesitated, but then leaned over to kiss her forehead. "I live to serve, my Lady."   
  
"No, you don't," Wraith told him, shaking her head with a sad little smile, "You live to care. And I'm glad you do."   
  
  
  
  
For the next couple of days, Wraith did nothing but rest. It took a great deal of convincing from Clara to get her to even leave her rooms. But Clara was beyond persistent and talked Wraith into tours of the castle. Together, they wandered the halls and Clara told Wraith of what the castle had been like when it was still a school. Wraith showed Clara the music room hidden in Flitwick's old office and Clara made happy noises over the many instruments within, including the piano. Wraith wouldn't play for her.   
  
Clara and Harper did their best for Wraith, but there was so improving their Lady's dark mood. The incident with the Dark Lord had soured her.  
  
Wraith only had thoughts towards finding the truth of her creation and of bringing it to light. Her thoughts were black and bitter, edged on vengeance towards Voldemort for the all he had hidden from her and hid still. She loathed him for keeping her ignorant and leaving her vulnerable to the phantom that had set its teeth into her.   
  
When evening fell on their third night at Hogwarts, both Clara and Harper had completely given up on pulling Wraith from her mood. Snape had known better than to even try, but he had kept her company. Wraith felt a sense of bittersweet memory when she and Snape frittered away the time with chess and tea.   
  
Being back at Hogwarts had awakened a terrible need in her. A need to see Edwin. What pained her was that she knew she could find a way to do so. It would only take the smallest bit of power to find him and steal away a little time with him. But she didn't.   
  
Wraith was afraid. She was so afraid to look him in the eyes. What if instead of love, she'd see disgust? They had spoken of—and even agreed—that she had to return to the Dark Lord. But how could Edwin forgive her for it? Wraith wasn't even sure that she could forgive herself.   
  
Harper had told her of Edwin's panicked letter that had arrived the day she went into the dungeons. The locket she had given him for protection had burned, just as Harper and Clara's bracelets had. Clara had sent a quick reply, telling Edwin that Wraith was alright—and Wraith couldn't bring herself to send a letter herself. Despite her proud words, was she such a coward after all?   
  
"My Lady?"   
  
Wraith looked up from the book in her lap, not able to remember what she had been reading. "Yes, Antony?" she replied, setting the book aside.   
  
"You have a visitor."   
  
Wraith blinked and Clara popped up from her perch on the couch.   
  
"Ooh, a visitor," Clara purred, "Who?"   
  
 _Could it be him_? Wraith thought with hope and fear.  _Edwin_?   
  
"It's Rafe," Harper said, "He's down in the entrance hall. I wasn't sure if you wanted to see anyone."   
  
Wraith felt herself smile and she stood. "Him I'll see," she said, hurrying to the door.   
  
As Harper said, Rafe was pacing nonchalantly in the entrance hall.   
  
"My Wolf," Wraith called from the stair, her smile growing brighter than it had been for days.   
  
Rafe matched her smile and met her at the bottom of the staircase. He held out his arms in a silent offer and Wraith accepted them, throwing her own arms around his neck. Rafe laughed and lifted her up, spinning her around before setting her down again.   
  
"Oh, you are just what I needed, my Wolf," Wraith purred, "What brings you to me?"   
  
"I went to the Manor to speak with the Dark Lord," Rafe told her, "and the little creature, Wormtail, he told me that you were here. I thought to bring invitation directly to you as I had,  _ahem_ , 'our Lord'."   
  
Wraith grinned at him, "What invitation?"   
  
"The new moon is in two days," Rafe said, "I thought that another gathering of my wolves and the Dark Lord's Death Eaters would serve us well."   
  
"I like the thought," Wraith admitted, "In fact, your timing is perfect. I need distraction."   
  
Rafe tilted his head to the side. "Distraction, is it? From what?"   
  
"Everything," Wraith said on a sigh.   
  
Rafe reached out a gentle hand and brushed at her hair. "My Lady is unhappy," he murmured, "How might I strive to fix that?"   
  
"Cad," Wraith named him, pushing his hand away.  
  
"I only want to help," Rafe said, eyes wide with false innocence, "and look," he added, "I made you smile."   
  
Wraith shook her head, but the wolf was right; she was smiling. She moved closer, taking his face into her hands. Wraith pressed her lips lightly to his. "Dear wolf," she murmured, "So very…helpful."   
  
Rafe grinned, his smile wolfish, "But, of course, my Lady. You break your chains and I am free of mine. So, I will be  _very_ …helpful," he said, putting his forehead to hers.   
  
Wraith laughed and kissed him again. "Be off with you," she scolded, pushing him back, "I'll see you in a couple of days."   
  
Rafe stepped back and bowed low, the grin still splitting his lips. "My Lady."   
  
Wraith watched him go, a calculating gleam in her eyes. Then she turned smartly on her heel and hurried back up to her rooms with a spring in her step. When she reached them, Clara and Harper saw the change in her at once.   
  
"What did your wolf have to tell you?" Harper asked.   
  
"We're going to a party, pets," Wraith replied, "The wolves are holding a new moon celebration in two days time and have invited the Dark Lord and his followers to join in."   
  
Clara's eyes brightened and she grinned ear to ear. "Sounds like my kind of fun," she said, "Do I get to play?" she asked, crossing to Wraith and tugging on a lock of black hair.   
  
"Of course," Wraith said, "I wouldn't dream of denying you your fun."   
  
"Are we returning to the Manor then?" Harper asked.   
  
The question gave Wraith pause. "Tomorrow," she said, "We'll stay here for one more night."  
  
Clara slipped her arm around Wraith's waist and squeezed, "My Lady," she said, glancing at Harper, "Will you play the piano for us? Just once before we go?"   
  
Wraith rested her head on Clara's shoulder and smiled gently. "Yes."   
  
  
  
  
Voldemort was waiting when Wraith returned to the Manor in the morning. She stopped in the doorway of her tower, looking at him. Glancing over her shoulder, she met Harper's eyes.   
  
"Take Clara downstairs," she murmured, "I'll call on you when I'm able."   
  
"Yes, my Lady," Harper said at once. He turned, catching Clara's hand in his and pulling her back down the stairs.   
  
Wraith stepped into her tower, closing the door behind her. Voldemort stood before the fireplace, not looking at her. Wraith waited a moment, letting the silence burn between them.   
  
"…Thank you," she said at last, "I'd missed Hogwarts. I hadn't realized how much."   
  
"You are welcome," Voldemort said.   
  
"Has he been dealt with?" Wraith asked him then, her voice still soft, "Our…problem?"   
  
"To the best of my abilities," the Dark Lord replied.   
  
Wraith faked a smile and crossed to him. "Then, trusting in your abilities, we'll call it done," she said, standing before him, "Again, thank you."   
  
When Voldemort still didn't look at her, Wraith felt a twinge of apprehension. She frowned slightly and stepped away from him, walking towards one of the tall windows.   
  
"I had a visitor last night," she said coolly, "Our Wolf stopped by the castle to extend personal invitation to the pack's new moon celebration tomorrow night."   
  
"And did you give a reply?" Voldemort asked.   
  
"I thought to go," Wraith said, crossing her arms, "Do you have objection to it?"   
  
"No," Voldemort said, finally turning, "You wish to go?"   
  
"I wish to go with you," Wraith replied with a smirk, "It wouldn't be any fun if you weren't there to watch me dance." Her smirk faded to nothing as she considered him, still standing at the fireplace. Moving slowly, she sat on the edge of her bed, keeping her eyes on him. "What is troubling you?" she asked him plainly.  
  
"It is none of your concern," Voldemort all but snapped.   
  
Wraith bit back the sharp retort that pressed against her lips. Silence fell again and Wraith regarded her Lord with cool eyes.   
  
"This…incident with your phantom," Voldemort began, "It has…disturbed me. I find myself unsure of what course to take concerning you."   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed. She mentally cursed fervently and repeatedly. "You've changed your mind about me," she said slowly, standing again.   
  
"Not as yet," Voldemort told her, "As I said, I am merely…unsure."   
  
Wraith could think of nothing to say. The seduction she had used on him to initially lead him to her bed would not hold him anymore. His fear of Slytherin's shade and the control it had taken over him trumped everything that he had begun to feel towards her. His fear was greater than his need. Wraith felt a sudden rush and helplessness and fury. She could not risk losing her grip on him, not now. Riding on that fury, Wraith glared at the Dark Lord and then went straight for the door. As she reached it, she paused long enough to mutter a single word.  
  
 _"Coward_."   
  
She was halfway down the stairs when he reached her. Voldemort grabbed her by the arm, stopping her in her tracks. She turned a fresh and piercingly defiant stare on him and said nothing.  
  
" _What_  did you call me?" Voldemort demanded of her.   
  
"I called you a coward," she spat at him.   
  
"You  _dare_ ," he hissed, but Wraith pulled free of him and turned to face him fully.   
  
"…One of you blood should not cower in the face of a ghost," she whispered cruelly.   
  
Voldemort's mouth twisted in ire and loomed over her. Wraith met his gaze, not daring to look away for even a moment. She waited for the white-hot pain she had no doubt just earned in his eyes.   
  
"This is what you want to do?" she demanded of him, "Let some phantom make your choices for you?"  
  
"This is not about what I  _want_ ," Voldemort snarled at her.  
  
Looking up at him, Wraith saw something in his eyes that she had not expected.  _I have struck deeper in him than I'd realized._  
  
Voldemort stared down at her and to Wraith's utter shock, his fury abated. For a single moment, he simply looked…tired.   
  
Wraith's own anger slipped away from her and she looked up at him with patient eyes. "What will it be?" she asked him.   
  
"Come back upstairs," he told her, turning as he said the words.    
  
  
  
  
The Dark Lord and his Lady walked through the deep shadows of the forest, drawn by the light that lay in the distance. Behind them came their Death Eaters and an air of reckless abandon that seemed infectious.   
  
Wraith, her arm wrapped through Voldemort's as they walked, looked up at him with a sharp-edged smirk. "Don't look so serious, my Lord and love," she said teasingly, "We are here to have  _fun_ , remember?"   
  
Voldemort sneered at her from beneath the shadows of his cloak.   
  
Wraith grinned, her teeth flashing in the dark. Clara had done her work well that night. Wraith wore a black dress with long sleeves of spider-webbed lace, the skirt was deliberately tattered to give her an almost wild look. The older girl had braided parts of Wraith's black hair and pulled it back, but the rest flowed freely around her face.   
  
Deep within the pack's territory, a bonfire roared in the center of a wide clearing. The flames stretched up twice as tall as any man and spilled heat like a man spilled blood in battle. Rafe surveyed the clearing with proud eyes, his sister standing patiently at his side. They had brought to the clearing a grandly carved wooden throne and set it at the clearing's edge for the Dark Lord. Beside was a smaller version, for their Lady. His pack danced around the flames to the music that drummed deep, half of them already drunk on mead and feverous air.   
  
Rafe's eyes lit to the clearing's edge, sensing movement beyond the trees. Glancing at his sister, a grin splitting his lips, he made his way across the clearing, pushing his way through the crowd. Voldemort and Wraith appeared first, followed closely by the rest. The Dark Lord's face was hidden by his cloak, but Rafe saw the smile clearly on his Wraith's face. Rafe came to a stop and held out his arms in invitation.   
  
Voldemort, not having seen Rafe yet, examined the clearing and his eyes lit to the pair of thrones. He pulled gently on Wraith's arm, but she was already rushing to join the crowd. Voldemort followed her with his eyes, his scowl deepening when he saw Rafe catch Wraith up in his arms, lifting her off the ground. Wraith threw her head back and laughed when Rafe refused to put her back down. The wolf set Wraith on his shoulder and his eyes met those of the Dark Lord. Rafe's smile was one of gloating and he turned, carrying Wraith deeper into the crowd. Voldemort took a breath, calming the ire that burned his blood at the wolf's arrogance, and he took claim to the throne the wolves had provided.   
  
Glaring at the crowd in general, the Dark Lord was surprised when a hand offered a glass of wine. He glanced up and was further surprised to see his Lady's Harper standing beside his throne. Harper smiled, his air pleasantly helpful. Voldemort took the wine the boy offered.   
  
"There's nothing to worry about, you know."   
  
Voldemort blinked. "I beg your pardon?" he said with a sneer.   
  
Harper just continued to smile and he gestured to where Wraith and the alpha were. "Them," he said, "Our Lady enjoys playing with him, the wolf. But that's all it is to her."   
  
Voldemort frowned slightly and turned to study Harper a moment. There was something subtly different about him. He was not the same child that had received his Mark, nor even the slightly damaged young man that had continued to serve. Being bound only to the Wraith seemed to have changed him. That night, he was dressed all in black, with a vest that mirrored the spider-web lace to match his Lady. His dark hair was slicked back, his face clean-shaven.   
  
Harper's eyes glittered with mirth as if he knew that he was being studied. He knelt beside the Dark Lord, his gaze sweeping back over the crowd. "If you'll forgive me for saying so, my Lord, you owe a debt to whoever our Lady took to her bed last year."   
  
Voldemort stiffened. "You had best explain yourself and  _quickly_ , boy."   
  
"Look at what you have, my Lord," Harper said softly, his eyes still on Wraith, "A woman of power and confidence who seeks your bed happily. You wouldn't have had that if she hadn't found another lover to take before you. She was broken by Dominic Gavin. You know that, don't you?"   
  
Voldemort nodded once, his eyes narrowed.   
  
"And you and Gavin had something very important in common," Harper continued.   
  
"What is that?"   
  
"You both hold power over her."   
  
" _Ah_ ," Voldemort sighed, beginning to see what the boy was talking about.   
  
"Our Lady had to find herself, put back together all those broken little pieces that Gavin made of her. Now, she has found power, unexpected and great, in her own touch," Harper said, "And, like you, my Lord, when she finds power—she  _uses_  it."   
  
Voldemort found his Wraith in the crowd and watched as she ran her hand down Rafe's cheek, her smile feral and powerful. Slowly, the Dark Lord smiled. "You are a clever boy," he said simply.   
  
Harper gave him a sharp grin. "So I've been told," he replied around that cheshire expression. He glanced over his shoulder to see Clara and they shared the same smile. Like Harper, she was dressed in black and lace to compliment their Lady. Her chestnut hair was pulled back from her face and a small hint of skin was visible between her vest and pants. "If you'll excuse me, my Lord," Harper said, standing again. Clara slipped her arm through his and together the pair of them joined the crowd.   
  
  
  
  
Rafe grinned down at Wraith and offered a bottle of mead to her, his fingers brushing over hers as she took it.   
  
"You're in fine form tonight," she told him, raising a slim brow.   
  
"As are you," Rafe replied smoothly, leaning his head down brush against hers, "You are absolutely  _delicious_  tonight," he murmured.   
  
Wraith laughed, brushing her cheek against his. "And how fares your 'guest'?" she asked.   
  
"He fares quite well," Rafe said, "He's somewhere far from here tonight and safe from prying eyes. He's an interesting man, our 'guest'. I think I like him."   
  
"Where is your dear sister?" Wraith asked him then, her voice almost lost in the music.   
  
"Oh, she's around," Rafe said lightly, "Ze'eva is  _very_  much looking forward to seeing you tonight."   
  
"Is she?"   
  
Even as the words left her mouth, Wraith felt slim arms circle her waist from behind and Ze'eva's voice whispered in her ear. "You  _crafty_  little _bitch_."   
  
"Hello, Ze'eva," Wraith replied as the wolf cuddled her close.   
  
Ze'eva chuckled, putting her chin on Wraith's shoulder. "I knew there was something about you I liked," she said sweetly, "and now I know what it is. Come and dance with me,  _my Lady_."   
  
"As you like," Wraith replied, turning in Ze'eva's arms. The two slipped through the crowd, moving closer to the fire.   
  
As they went, Rafe saw Harper and Clara approaching. "Harper, isn't it?" he said to the boy, offering a hand.  
  
"It is," Harper said, gripping his hand.  
  
"And you're Clara," Rafe said, giving her a sharp and promising smile.   
  
Clara grinned at him, biting down on her lower lip. "Good to see you again," she said.   
  
"May I steal you for a dance, pretty one?" Rafe asked her.   
  
Clara looked at Harper, who gestured for her to go on. Grin wide and infectious, Clara took Rafe up on the offer and they too disappeared into the crowd.  
  
Harper watched them go and then glanced around for familiar faces. Seeing one, he smiled and pushed his way to the edge of the clearing where Bartok and Snape stood observing the crowd. "Hey, Professor," he said to Snape, "Having fun?"  
  
"Harper," Snape said evenly, his lips twisted in the slightest sneer. He leaned down a bit closer to the boy and asked in a whisper, "How is she?"   
  
"She's been better," Harper replied, his eyes on Wraith as she danced with Ze'eva to the thrumming beat of the music, "But she's intent on enjoying herself tonight."   
  
Bartok pulled something out of his pocket and then offered a cigarette to Harper. He took it gladly and lit it. "How are you, Bartok?"   
  
"Well," the large wolf replied, taking a swig of mead, "Yourself?"   
  
"Oh, I'm giddy," Harper said with a grin. His eyes widened when he saw another familiar face close by. " _Abby_!"   
  
The young werewolf turned and smiled to see him. "Hey, Tony," she said, pulling him into a hug, being careful of the lit cigarette in his hand, "You look great."   
  
"So, do you," Harper told her, "How've you been?"   
  
"I've been good," Abby said, " _really_  good. I think you know Quince, right?"   
  
Abby tugged on the arm of the man she'd been standing with. Harper smirked at seeing the former Death Eater looking still a little out of place with his pack. "Harper."   
  
"Quincy," Harper replied, "Settling right in, aren't you?"   
  
Quincy laughed and nodded. "Yeah, you could say that," he said, smiling down at Abby.   
  
"Don't miss us at all, do you?" Harper asked, amused.   
  
"Can't say that I do," Quincy admitted.  
  
"Can't say that I blame you," Harper replied. He stuck the cigarette between his teeth and pulled back his sleeve.   
  
Quincy frowned, but looked down to see the unmarred skin of Harper's left arm. His eyes widened. "The hell?"   
  
"Our Lady Wraith absconded me," Harper told him. Then he grinned, his eyes glittered in the firelight. "Keep your eyes open, Quince, you'd be surprised what you can see."   
  
Harper slipped back to where Snape and Bartok were, leaving Quincy and Abby to wonder what he meant.    
  
  
  
  
Wraith felt a sense of exhilaration as Ze'eva pun her around only to catch her in her arms again. "Will you sing tonight?" she asked the wolf when she pulled her closer.   
  
"Only if you sing first," Ze'eva purred.   
  
"I don't sing, Ze'eva," Wraith argued.   
  
"Only because you've never tried before," the wolf countered, "I've a song for you and everything," she whispered in the smaller girl's ear.   
  
"Of course you do," Wraith said dryly.   
  
"I'll sing it with you," Ze'eva promised.   
  
"What is the song?" Wraith asked with a sigh.   
  
Ze'eva grinned again and began to whisper in her ear. After a moment, Wraith began to smile. When their dance finished, Wraith allowed Ze'eva to pull her over to the raised mound where the wolves with instruments played.   
  
Voldemort caught sight of her there and wondered at the mischievous smile his Lady wore. As he watched her, Rafe joined them there and he too smiled widely. The music slowly ebbed into silence and one by one the crowd turned towards the band in curiosity.   
  
Ze'eva took hold of Wraith's hand and spun her around, putting the girl in front of her. Ze'eva put one arm around Wraith's shoulders and the other around her waist.   
  
Rafe, along with a few others, began to hum a deep and dark tune that echoed over the now silent clearing. And then Ze'eva began to sing.   
  
 _"Oh, Death… oh, Death… oh Death—  
Won't you spare me over another year…" _  
  
Wraith smiled slowly, sharp and sweet as the band began to play and the wolf sang on.   
  
 _"But what is this, that I cant see  
With ice cold hands taking hold of me…  
When God is gone and the Devil takes hold,   
Who will have mercy on your soul?" _  
  
Together, the two women swayed slightly to the song.   
  
 _"Oh, Death…oh, Death…oh Death…"_  
  
The song succumbed to the briefest silence and Wraith sang.   
  
 _"No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold—  
Nothing satisfies me but your soul…" _  
  
On the last word, Wraith pulled out of Ze'eva hold and spun to face her.   
  
 _"Well I am Death, none can excel,  
I'll open the door to Heaven or Hell…" _  
  
Voldemort felt a cold shiver run down his spine as his Wraith's eyes turned to him.   
  
 _"Oh, Death…oh, Death…"_  
  
Her eyes locked upon him, she sang.  
  
 _"…My name is Death and the end is here..."_  
  
As the drifted to an end, a chorus of howls and applause erupted from the crowd. Wraith's gaze broke away from the Dark Lord's and she grinned, quite pleased with herself. Rafe came up behind her and leaned down to kiss her neck and murmur praise in her ear. The music started up again, the spell of Wraith's song broken.   
  
Voldemort still felt chilled. He closed his eyes and sipped at the wine he held.   
  
"What did you think?"   
  
His eyes flashed open to see Wraith sitting in the smaller throne beside him. She still wore that knife-edged little smile.   
  
"…I didn't know you sang," Voldemort said at last.   
  
Wraith shrugged lightly. "Ze'eva dared me to," she said, "And you know me, my Lord, I can't resist a challenge." She tilted her head to the side. "You haven't said what you thought."   
  
"A compelling song," Voldemort said, "Well suited to you."   
  
"Thank you," Wraith said wryly.   
  
Voldemort looked at her and then shook his head, his mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile. Wraith's eyes narrowed and glittered darkly. She got to her feet and stood before him, taking his wine glass in her hand. She leaned down, letting the empty glass fall delicately to the ground, and placed her hands on the armrests of his throne.  
  
"Is my Lord not enjoying himself?" she whispered, "Even a little bit?"   
  
"Perhaps a little," Voldemort replied, giving her an arched look.   
  
Wraith smirked and then leaned close to press her lips to his. Voldemort lifted a hand and twisted it into her hair, keeping her there. When Wraith pulled back, she threw a measuring glance over her shoulder at the crowd. Then she turned back to the Dark Lord and raised a questioning eyebrow. Voldemort too looked at the crowd and then he gestured to her. Wraith settled into his lap, curling her legs over his, and wrapping an arm over his shoulders to hold herself steady. Voldemort slipped an arm around her waist and settled the other on her knee.   
  
Wraith laughed under her breath and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. "This ought to get the tongues wagging," she muttered, her tone colored by humor.   
  
"Oh, yes," Voldemort said dryly, letting his hand drift up her leg, "My acknowledged lover sitting in my lap. How shocking."   
  
Wraith laughed again and then pressed her lips to his neck. When she felt the slight shiver that ran through him, she grinned maliciously and touched his cheek, making him turn his head towards her. She caught his mouth quickly with hers, stilling any objection from him before he could give voice to it. Wraith trapped his lip between her teeth a moment, just long enough to make him tense, and then released him. "You are entirely too much fun sometimes," she told him.   
  
Voldemort smiled darkly and touched his lips lightly to hers. He turned his eyes out onto the clearing again and was pleased to see the fear and awe in the eyes that dared to meet his.   
  
Wraith followed his gaze with hers and her grin widened when her eyes met those of Bellatrix Lestrange. Delighted by the woman's murderous expression, Wraith gave a small purr of pleasure. Voldemort caught sight of Bellatrix and pulled his head back far enough that he could give Wraith an admonishing look.  
  
"You're gloating, pet."   
  
"Your point?" Wraith retorted, raising a brow.   
  
Voldemort sighed and settled back into his throne, keeping an arm tight around Wraith's waist.   
  
"She's going to try something," Wraith all but sang, touching her lips to his neck again, "If not tonight, then soon."   
  
"I'd prefer that you didn't antagonize her," Voldemort stated.   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed and she lifted her head to meet his eyes. "My very existence antagonizes her," she snapped, "My power, my place at your side. I am where she wants to be. There can be no peace between Bella and I. We will forever be at odds—until the day comes that you will have to choose one… above the other."   
  
"You truly believe that?" the Dark Lord asked, slightly surprised by her ire.   
  
"I  _know_  it," Wraith replied with a poison sweet smile. She ran a hand down his face in a gentle touch and then settled back down, her head at the crook of his neck.   
  
Voldemort caught Harper's eye through the mass and gestured. The boy darted away and then appeared at the throne with two wine glasses.   
  
Wraith straightened up to take hers. "Where's Clare?"   
  
"Dancing with Rafe again," Harper replied, nodding towards the bonfire, "I think he likes her."   
  
"Who wouldn't?" Wraith said dryly. She glanced at the sardonic look on the Dark Lord's face. "Present company excluded," she added with a smirk. She touched the edge of her wine glass to his in a mocking toast and was rewarded by his twisted smile.   
  
Harper bowed to them and then disappeared into the mob.   
  
Wraith sipped at her wine, watching the dancers. "Will you dance with me?" she asked suddenly, turning her head.   
  
"You know better than to ask," Voldemort told her, "Go and find your wolf for that."   
  
"As you wish," Wraith said sweetly, slipping out of his lap.   
  
Wraith found Rafe at the other end of the clearing and he smiled to see her.   
  
"You looked comfortable back there," he said with a smirk.   
  
"I was," she replied dryly, "but then I remembered that you hadn't danced with me yet." She held out a hand to him and waited.   
  
Rafe chuckled and pulled her into his arms. "Apologies, my Lady," he said, "Let's remedy that."   
  
  
  
  
Wraith danced for several hours, switching between Rafe and Harper. As the night grew thin and the music less wild, she began to feel the exhaustion creeping up on her. She made her way back to the thrones and sat down just as she felt she might fall down.   
  
The Dark Lord was somewhere in the crowd and so she enjoyed having a brief moment to herself. She tilted her head back to look up towards the stars and was shocked when she saw that the sky was lightening.   
  
Blinking, she looked around the clearing. Rafe was sitting with his back against a tall tree, his eyes half closed and blurry with drink. Their eyes met briefly and he smiled tiredly. Wraith lifted a hand to gesture to him and he forced himself to stand and stumble over to her.   
  
"I… am not sober," he declared, settling at her feet, "May I put my head in your lap?"   
  
Wraith laughed, but she nodded. Rafe sighed and laid his head on her knee. Wraith amused herself by running her hand over his hair. There was still music, but it was a single flute that sang something akin to a lullaby.   
  
Wraith continued to watch the crowd and found her Lord standing to one side with Snape and Lucius Malfoy. She couldn't see Harper or Clara and wondered at where they had gone—and couldn't help but wonder if they were somewhere together.   
  
"Tonight was good, wasn't it?" Rafe asked, looking up at her.   
  
"Yes, I think so" Wraith told him, smiling.   
  
"Have you been well distracted from your troubles, my sweet Lady?"   
  
"I have," she said, "Thank you, my Wolf."


	84. Poisonous Words

_"Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word."_  
  
  
  
  
Returning to the Manor in the early hours of the morning, Wraith fell into step beside the Dark Lord without a word. She was too tired to speak, truthfully. But she hadn't been tired enough to miss that when Harper and Clara had finally reappeared at the wolves' celebration, they had come stumbling out of the forest together. They now walked behind Wraith and the Dark Lord up the Manor's front steps, with Harper's hair mussed and Clara wearing a grin akin to a cat licking cream from its whiskers.   
  
"You seem pleased, pet."   
  
Wraith blinked, pulled from her thoughts, and then she smiled slightly. "I am, I suppose," she replied, slipping her arm through his. "Tonight was fun. I haven't had that in a while."   
  
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."   
  
The two of them left everyone else and made their way to Voldemort's tower. They climbed the twisted stair and Voldemort took her up to his bedroom. Wraith stood patiently as he stepped behind her to undo the braids that Clara had put in her hair.   
  
"Are you very tired, my pet?"   
  
Wraith nodded, but she turned to take hold of his robes. Pulling him down, she kissed him lightly. "But not _too_  tired," she whispered.   
  
Voldemort smiled slowly and reached to unlace her dress. When it lay discarded on the floor, Wraith slipped into bed, tilting her head to one side as she watched him undress.   
  
She suddenly had questions, about his hunt for Grindelwald, for Potter, but she didn't dare break the mood he was in. Things were still on edge between them and would no doubt remain so for the time being.   
  
Voldemort joined her in the bed and she took him with open arms, stilling her questions for another time.   
  
  
  
  
As the day began outside the Manor, Wraith still lay awake in Voldemort's bed. His arms were entwined around her. Wraith wondered if he realized how he clung in his sleep.   
  
 _Damaged little soul. If he were anyone else, I could pity the maimed thing he has made himself._  
  
She was so tired, but sleep eluded her nonetheless. She wanted her own bed—but it would be impossible to leave without waking the Dark Lord. So, Wraith waited.   
  
It was late morning when she finally felt him stir. She turned to see him and smiled wanly when she saw his eyes open. "Good morning," she murmured.   
  
"Did you sleep at all?" he asked, noting her weary eyes.  
  
"No," Wraith admitted, "My mind wouldn't shut off."   
  
Voldemort let her slip from his arms, watched as she drew on the thin silk robe she kept by his bed. "What weighs so on your mind?" he asked, sitting up.   
  
"The future," Wraith said, "My future, to be specific."   
  
"Do tell."   
  
But she shook her head. "It isn't important. I was simply musing." She turned to light the candles scattered about the dark room and sent a silent inquiry.  _Antony, are you awake?_  
  
It took a few moments before she heard a reply.  _Yes_ , he said, his voice a whisper in her mind: _Did you need something, love?_    
  
Wraith smiled at the endearment.  _Just wondered if you could bring tea to the Dark Lord's tower. We only just woke.  
  
I'll be right there. _  
  
"You are quiet, pet."   
  
"I wish you wouldn't call me that," Wraith muttered.   
  
"Pity. I like to."   
  
Wraith sighed, rolling her eyes. "There is just no arguing with you, is there?"   
  
"Yet, you persist in doing so," Voldemort replied dryly, "It grows tiresome."   
  
"Pity," Wraith said, "I like to."   
  
Her retort drew a shadow of a smile from him. "Where are you going?" he asked as she headed for the door.  
  
"Harper is bringing tea," she replied, glancing back at him.   
  
She went down the stairs to the office, lighting a fire to chase away the chill the morning had brought. Voldemort appeared at the hidden door a few minutes later and he sat in his chair before the fireplace in silence. Wraith looked up at the gentle knock on the door and went to answer it.   
  
Harper stood there, a tray of tea levitating in front of him. He offered a bright smile. "Good morning, my Lady." Seeing Voldemort at the back of the room, he bowed slightly. "My Lord."   
  
"Thank you, Antony," Wraith said, taking the tea.   
  
"If there is anything else you require, let me know."   
  
"Again, my thanks," she replied, "If you would be so kind as to wake Clara within the hour?"  
  
"Of course, my Lady." He bowed again and then took his leave.   
  
Wraith closed the door behind him with a thought and carried to the tea tray over to Voldemort's desk. The Dark Lord watched patiently as he poured the tea for the both of them. When she offered him his cup, he caught her lightly by the wrist.   
  
"I'd like to hear those musings of yours," he told her, letting her go.   
  
Wraith hesitated, turning away to pick up her own tea. "I know there will come a time when you tire of me," she began slowly, "These recent events have made me start to wonder what will happen to me when that time comes."   
  
"You fear I will treat you unfairly?"   
  
"No," Wraith said softly.   
  
Voldemort thought in silence for a moment. "You know my plans for you," he said, "I have need to continue your bloodline. I'd see you well married to that end." He tilted his head to one side, watching as she crossed to the window. "I've had thoughts recently to Draco Malfoy. He is of age with you and his family is ridiculously grateful to you. It would be a beneficial match."   
  
Wraith murmured a soft and uncertain sound.   
  
"You don't approve?" Voldemort asked, actually surprised.   
  
Wraith hesitated again, but she turned to face him nonetheless, leaning back against the windowsill. "I simply wonder…why I must marry at all," she admitted.   
  
Voldemort blinked. "I have told you," he said, infuriatingly patient, "Your bloodline—"   
  
"One does not have to be  _married_  to have children," Wraith said archly, "It is my children you require, nothing more."   
  
Voldemort was silent, but it seemed to Wraith that he was pensive rather than hostile.   
  
"The advantages of a…different arrangement have occurred to me," Wraith said, "When the time comes, we could seek something of proper blood—who is also  _disposable_. We use him and discard him and let the world wonder who the father of my children is." She raised an eyebrow. "It would give my children a measure of protection if people would forever be wondering if they were yours."   
  
"You're serious."   
  
"Completely," Wraith told him, a flash of determined fire in her eyes. "I am perfectly aware of why you need my bloodline continued, but I  _will_ protect what is mine. I will protect my children."   
  
"How fierce you are to protect that which does not yet exist, pet."   
  
"There are other advantages, my Lord," she said, "Done this way,  _my_  way, you would not be forced to give me up before you want to. I remain unmarried—you keep me for as long as it pleases you."   
  
Voldemort stared into the fire, pondering. "The idea has great merit," he admitted, "I think that I like it."   
  
Wraith felt herself smile and she went back to the desk, setting her tea down. "Speaking of ideas of merit," she said coolly, "What would my Lord say to a bath together?"   
  
Voldemort laughed under his breath and pushed himself up out of his chair. "An excellent suggestion," he replied, "Come."   
  
  
  
  
Voldemort took his Wraith to the bath nearest his tower. It was on the edge of opulent, the room done completely in black tile, the bathtub sunk into the floor. Wraith did a turn around the room while the bath filled and Voldemort watched her with curious eyes. He slipped into the water first and Wraith followed, letting her robe fall to the ground beside his. The water was almost scalding, but Wraith did not mind. She sunk beneath the surface for a moment before coming back up with a smile.   
  
Voldemort beckoned to her and she waded over to his side, letting him take hold of her waist to pull her closer still. He traced his mouth down her throat, enjoying the feel of her in the water. Wraith hummed low in her throat, smiling still. She always smiled just before she ruined her Lord's mood.   
  
"Has there been any sign of Potter since his attempt on Gringotts?"   
  
Voldemort stiffened and then cursed, pushing her away from him. Wraith laughed delightedly, settling at the opposite side of the water. Voldemort scowled at her and her grinning eyes. "No," he said at last, "and I have been watching carefully."   
  
"Has he?"   
  
The Dark Lord's eyes flashed with fury, knowing full well what his Wraith had meant by the question. "I have been quite diligent,  _pet_. I assure you. Potter has not been peering into my mind."   
  
"And what then of Grindelwald?" Wraith asked, tilting her head to one side.   
  
"You are determined to infuriate me this morning, aren't you?" he asked in turn, his tone cool.   
  
"Yes," she said at once, "What of Grindelwald?"   
  
Voldemort sighed impatiently. "Come back over here and I'll tell you."   
  
Wraith complied, slipping back to him through the water. Voldemort caught her by the waist and pulled her into his lap. Wraith settled with her back against him, resting her head on his shoulder while he wrapped his arms over her.   
  
"There has been no sign of him," Voldemort admitted, running a hand down her stomach, "Nothing for me to follow."   
  
"Does that mean that it's my turn to play?" Wraith asked, closing her eyes.   
  
"Patience, pet," Voldemort murmured, letting his hand drift further down.   
  
Wraith's soft laugh turned into a gasping breath. Voldemort smiled, taking pleasure in the way she writhed.   
  
"Why must you chain me?" Wraith demanded, her voice breathy, "You hold me back always."   
  
"I like you where you are," Voldemort told her, "Are you not satisfied with your position?"  
  
"I want more," Wraith hissed. She turned over, straddling him, her hands beneath the water. "I always want more," she murmured, her lips hovering over his, "And I don't take it well when you prevent me from getting it."   
  
Voldemort smiled slowly and he lifted his head to catch her mouth with his. "My proud little pet."   
  
Wraith hissed again, biting down and drawing blood. Voldemort gripped her by the waist, holding her in place. His eyes narrowed as they met the challenge in hers. Wraith grinned, a touch of blood at the corner of her mouth. Voldemort twisted a hand in her hair and pulled her back to him.   
  
  
  
  
"I think we need to pay Hogwarts another quick visit," Wraith said to Clara later in the day.  
  
"What makes you say that?"  
  
"I'd like to speak with Hagrid about taking thestrals for you and Antony," Wraith explained.   
  
"I am not riding one by myself," Clara said flatly, "Get one for Tony. I'll ride with him or with you."   
  
Wraith laughed, but she agreed. So, that afternoon, Wraith took Harper to Hogwarts on Hakuul. Clara stayed behind at the Manor, opting to play in Wraith's wardrobe again. Hakuul landed lightly on the lake's edge, his wings curling back against his sides as Wraith and Harper dismounted.   
  
"Run up to the castle and let Severus know we're here," Wraith instructed, "I'm going to attempt to talk to our groundskeeper."   
  
She took hold of Hakuul's reins and approached the groundkeeper's hut, not at all sure of how the man would take her request. When she neared the hut, she started at the sudden booming barks that erupted from within. Then she smiled slightly, shaking her head.   
  
Given warning by Fang, Hagrid opened the door before Wraith had reached it. He had one heavy hand on the great dog's collar, holding him back. His other hand held a crossbow, aimed at Wraith's heart. She stopped cold in her tracks, but her lips twisted into a wry smile.   
  
"Going to shoot me?" she asked.   
  
"Would it work?"   
  
"It would hurt."   
  
With a sigh, Hagrid lowered the bow. "I got no reason to shoot ya."   
  
"You're afraid of me," Wraith said softly, "That's reason enough for some."   
  
Hakuul took a step forward, putting his skeletal head over Wraith's shoulder. Wraith lifted a hand to brush over his nose.   
  
"Ye been taking good care of 'im?" Hagrid asked, looking the thestral over.   
  
"I have," Wraith said, "His name is Hakuul," she added, "It means 'phantom'."   
  
"Suits," Hagrid said, "I don't guess ye just came by fer a visit."   
  
"I need a favor," she admitted, "Another thestral, for my Harper to ride…and to keep Hakuul company."   
  
Hagrid didn't say anything for a minute. "This way," he told her. He stepped out of the hut, releasing Fang. The dog bounded over to Wraith, who obliged the hound with a scratch of the ears. Still holding tight to Hakuul's reins, Wraith followed Hagrid into the woods beyond his hut.   
  
They had only walked a short distance when Wraith saw the herd of thestrals through the trees. Hakuul saw them too and, for the first time, he fought against Wraith's hold. The girl turned to her mount, frowning as she ran a hand down his neck. "Poor love," she whispered, "You've been lonely, haven't you? I'm sorry."   
  
Hagrid glanced at her and then whistled sharply. The thestrals all turned at the sharp sound and Hagrid stepped forward, putting a hand out to one of the dark creatures. "She'll do fer ya," he said, looking at Wraith again.   
  
"She?" Wraith murmured, moving closer, "Does she have a name?"   
  
"Gysa."   
  
"Gysa," Wraith repeated, "She's lovely. Will she get along with Hakuul, do you think?"   
  
"I'd say so," Hagrid said, glad that she had asked, "They were close when yer Hakuul lived here."   
  
"Let me get Harper," Wraith said, "We'll see if she likes him." She released her hold of Hakuul's reins. "Visit with your family, love," she murmured to him.   
  
"Wraith."   
  
She paused, looking at Hagrid. The large man seemed unsure of what to say, but he obviously need to say  _something._    
  
"I think it says a lot 'bout a person when they treat their animals good."   
  
Wraith smiled, but it was rather sad. "Not as much as you'd think," she said gently, "After all, Voldemort treats his Nagini very well, you know." She looked away, her eyes bitter, "Treats me well too."   
  
  
  
  
It took a little longer to return to the Manor than usual. Harper was unused to flying, but Wraith was impressed by his nerve nonetheless. They landed near the forest's edge and Harper all but fell from his thestral's back.   
  
"I think I'm in need of a little practice," he gasped.   
  
"I think you're right," Wraith said lightly, dismounting. "You fared better than Clara did," she added with a smirk.   
  
Harper grinned. "Now there is a woman with her feet firmly planted on the ground."   
"Physically, at least," Wraith replied dryly.   
  
They released the thestrals into the woods and trudged up to the Manor. Clara was waiting in the sitting room for them, her smile bright when she bounced up to wrap her arms around Harper and kiss Wraith's cheek. "So, do we have a thestral?"   
  
"We do," Wraith told her.   
  
"Oh, good," Clara said, only a little pale at the thought of flying again. "The Dark Lord was asking for you, my Lady," she added in a whisper.   
  
"And his purpose?" Wraith asked.   
  
"Nothing specific, as far as I could tell," Clara said, "He simply wondered where you had gone."   
  
"I'd best let him know I've returned," Wraith said, stepping back. She touched a hand to Clara's cheek before she turned to leave.   
  
Voldemort, to Wraith's surprise, was not to be found in his tower. Following the link between them, Wraith tracked him to the ballroom below. She did hesitated to join him there. Memories clouded her thoughts as she recalled the only other time she had ventured into the once grand room. But she pushed past her reservations, too curious as to her Lord's purpose there to let it pass.   
  
Unlike the last time she had seen it, the ballroom was brightly lit, the dust cleared away. The Dark Lord stood upon a raised dais set before the glass doors across the room.   
  
"Ah, my Wraith," he said, turning to see her, "There you are."   
  
"Apologies, my Lord," she said, her eyes searching the ballroom for other changes made, "I had an errand to run."   
  
"So your servant informed me, with her own apologies," Voldemort said, "What do you think, pet?" he asked, gesturing to the room at large.   
  
"I begin to see a shadow of its grandeur," Wraith admitted, "Have you a purpose for it?"   
  
"Convenience," Voldemort replied, stepping down from the dais, "And pride towards my blood and what it once held in possession."   
  
"What you hold now," Wraith said.  
  
"Quite." Voldemort lifted a hand to brush against Wraith's cheek. "How did your errand fair, my pet?"   
  
"Successfully," she said with a smirk, "Do you want to meet  _my_  new pet?" she asked him, stepping closer.   
  
"Why not?" Voldemort said, his hand drifting light down her neck, "Show me."   
  
Wraith's smile widened and she took his hand, pulling him towards the glass doors that were not quite blocked off by the dais. Stepping out into the cool evening air, Wraith walked slowly towards the forest, sending out a silent call. Voldemort slipped an arm around her waist, drawing her closer as they walked.  
  
"You are of a mood tonight, my Lord and love," Wraith said wryly.   
  
"I have received pleasing news," he told her, "Talbot's location has been discovered."   
  
Wraith raised a brow. "Share it and see the thorn removed, my Lord," she said, "I am tired of chasing that man's shadow."   
  
"I send others to confirm that it is more than shadow this time," Voldemort said, "I will not waste your powers on another ploy."   
  
Wraith sighed. "That is his usual, isn't it?" she muttered, "It's a pity that he turned on us—he is a terribly clever man."   
  
"Oh, yes," Voldemort said, sneering, "He was quite the loss."   
  
"Ah, but you still underestimate your foes," Wraith told him, "Talbot has eluded us for years now, my Lord. That bears some respect in itself."   
  
She pulled away from him as the thestrals appeared at the tree line. Wraith murmured soft words to her Hakuul before turning back to Voldemort. She touched a hand to the other thestral's neck. "Her name is Gysa," she said, "With her I can travel easily with her servants." She tilted her head to one side. "We could even go riding together, if my Lord ever likes."   
  
"And would my Lady like to?" he asked, tilting his head to match hers.   
  
"She would," Wraith replied.   
  
"Then I shall oblige."   
  
Wraith grinned, delighted. "Take Hakuul," she said, "he is the better trained."   
  
Voldemort came forward, taking Hakuul's reins in his hand. "It would seem I am not the only one of a mood," he commented, pulling himself up onto the thestral's back.   
  
"It is fun to share in yours, my Lord and love," Wraith said, mounting Gysa. She turned the thestral towards the woods. "Would my Lord further indulge me with a race?" she asked with raised brow.   
  
"How could I refuse such a challenge?" he replied.  
  
"To the edge of the Manor's boundaries, then," Wraith told him.  
  
"But what shall be my reward when I win?"   
  
Wraith smiled slowly and did not reply. She spurred Gysa into an abrupt gallop, disappearing into the trees. Voldemort cursed under his breath and urged Hakuul to follow.   
  
  
  
  
Wraith pulled Gysa to a stop beside Voldemort and Hakuul, grinning despite having lost. She sighed, tossing her tangled hair back. "Almost got you," she said around that cheshire smile.   
  
"Perhaps another day, pet," Voldemort replied, smiling, "I have won, Lady Wraith. What is my prize?"   
  
Wraith's eyes narrowed even as her smile grew. She dismounted swiftly, urging the thestral to run for the deeper forest. Voldemort tilted his head, but he did the same. As Hakuul hurried to join Gysa, Wraith raised a brow.   
  
"So, my Lord wants a prize?" she said slyly, "He'll have to do more to earn it."   
  
With that same puckish grin, she took her skirts in hand and turned to run. Voldemort stood a moment, staring after her before he sighed and took up the chase.   
  
"Wraith!" he shouted after her, "Is there a point to this?"   
  
"The thrill of the hunt," Wraith shouted back, "I think you've forgotten the taste of it!"   
  
Voldemort cursed, making Wraith laugh as she darted between the trees. Her path twisted and turned and at times Voldemort lost sight of her, only to have her reappear somewhere behind him. Her laughter floated back to him on the wind, seeming to come from all directions.   
  
Bit by bit, his annoyance gave way to the very thrill Wraith had spoken of. Neither ran now, they moved all but silent through the twisted paths of the forest beyond the Manor grounds. His Hunter played at being his prey, the link between them enticing him to chase. But their bond could only tell him so much, quick as a snake she moved.   
  
Voldemort paused, slipping behind a large tree. He remained still, waiting. The only sun was the wind in the trees, the light quickly fading as the sun set in the distance. There was the slightest change in the air and Voldemort's arm shot out suddenly to the side, his hand catching Wraith by the wrist. He pulled her forward and then shoved her back against the rough bark of the tree. Wraith's arms came up to wrap around his neck at once, binding them further. Voldemort's mouth crushed down against hers, his hands keeping her pinned against the tree.   
  
Wraith's breath escaped in a laugh as Voldemort turned his teeth on the tender skin of her neck. She bit at his earlobe and drew her nails down the back of his neck in retaliation.   
  
Her gaze shifted and landed upon the figure approaching silently. She had known he would be here, even before she had initiated the chase.   
  
Grindelwald.   
  
Watching him from over the Dark Lord's shoulder, Wraith met his eyes. For the briefest moment, she smiled.   
  
Grindelwald returned the sharp expression, even as he raised his wand. Wraith swiftly shoved Voldemort to the side and lifted her hand to catch the curse that had been aimed for him.   
  
The bright green of the spell illuminated the fury etched on the Dark Lord's face when he turned and saw Grindelwald. " _You_!" he snarled, taking out his own wand.   
  
Grindelwald smiled thinly, giving the Dark Lord a mocking bow. Voldemort held up his wand, keeping it aimed for the dark wizard's heart.   
  
"What do you want here?" he demanded, "Is it not enough that you stole my prize?"   
  
"I've no interest in  _you_ , boy," Grindelwald replied with his rasp of a voice.   
  
Voldemort's eyes flickered in Wraith's direction and Wraith saw the slightest flash of panic in the Dark Lord's gaze. She raised a brow in Grindelwald's direction, but she said nothing. Calling up her power, she circled Grindelwald with it, binding him from Disapparating. Voldemort uttered a swift curse at the wizard, but Grindelwald blocked it easily and threw one in reply. Wraith stepped over quickly, catching the second curse in the palm of her hand.   
  
Something in Grindelwald's eyes sharpened as they met hers and Wraith felt the slightest shiver course down her back. She took a single step towards him and he vanished from sight. Wraith waited, turning in a slow circle. He had not Disapparated, Wraith would not let him, so he merely disappeared.   
  
There was a flash of light and Voldemort cursed as it hit his shoulder from behind. He fell to his knees, grasping his arm. He turned to fall, aiming a curse in retaliation. The dark light hit Grindelwald in the leg and the old man snarled at the sudden pain, but it did not slow him as Voldemort had intended. Once more, the man vanished.   
  
"Wraith, take his wand!" Voldemort commanded, pushing himself up off the ground.   
  
"His wand?" Wraith repeated, frowning at her Lord.   
  
"Don't question me!" Voldemort snarled, turning to face her. That was his mistake. There was a rumble like thunder and the ground beneath the Dark Lord surged suddenly. He was thrown clear away, hitting the trunk of a tree like a stone. He fell to the ground and did not move. Wraith hated the surge of fury and distress she felt at seeing him so.   
  
"Now," Grindelwald said, walking back into sight, "We can speak uninterrupted."   
  
"What can I do for you, good sir?" Wraith asked, tilting her head to one side as they began to circle one another in a wide loop.   
  
"I'm curious, Lady Death," Grindelwald said, "You must have known that I was here. You all but gift wrapped your Lord for me. Why?"   
  
"I wanted to see what you would do," Wraith told him, "But _I_  am curious as to why you've returned yet again."   
  
"I know what you are," Grindelwald said slowly, "…and that you should not exist. Your Lord has been a naughty boy… _little Mage_."   
  
That word coursed through Wraith's blood like fiery poison, burning her from the inside out. Like she had in the dungeon, she could almost hear that strange and furious voice in her mind, screaming in pain. She stumbled, closing her eyes against the pain that beat inside her skull. She brought her eyes sharply up to Grindelwald's.   
  
"Wh-what did you call me?" she whispered, her voice trembling.   
  
Grindelwald smiled, the expression cold and sharp. "Oh, the little Mage does not know," he said in a mocking voice, "Your Lord has been a _very_  naughty boy indeed."   
  
To the side, Voldemort stirred, pushing himself up. Wraith looked at him and then back to Grindelwald. He cocked his head, raising a brow at her. Voldemort shook his head to clear it and saw his Wraith and the dark wizard facing off not far away. "Wraith!" he shouted, "Take him!"   
  
But Wraith simply looked at him again, her face giving him nothing. She took a step back from Grindelwald, keeping her eyes on the Dark Lord.  
  
Grindelwald felt her magic release him and with a cackling laugh, he Disapparated.


	85. Mage

_And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,  
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,   
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us   
In deepest consequence_  
  
  
  
  
The silence that followed Grindelwald's escape seemed to suffocate. Wraith did not move, never took her eyes off of Voldemort, even as he rose to his feet. She had rarely seen him so twisted with rage, but thought distantly that his was nothing compared to hers.   
  
"You…let him escape," Voldemort said. His voice was dangerously quiet. "You  _allowed_  him to escape!" He crossed to her, quick as a snake. Quite obviously forcing himself not to strike at her.   
  
With his face now mere inches from hers, Wraith spoke very softly, "What am I?"   
  
The simply question had Voldemort taking a step back from her. He studied her face, seeing for the first time the fire that ran under her skin.   
  
Wraith turned, fully facing him. " _What—am—I_?" she demanded again.   
  
"What did he tell you?"   
  
"Why won't you answer me?" Wraith asked, "Of all the things I ask, why do you never answer me this? I have served you, killed for you,  _loved_ you. Why is it so difficult for you to give me a name? One single word?"   
  
"I  _did_  give you a name," the Dark Lord reminded her.  
  
"A name you created for me," she replied, "Name me again, now. Tell me what I am!"   
  
"You are  _mine_!" Voldemort snarled, "That is all you need know to serve me!"   
  
" _Mage_."   
  
The Dark Lord froze where he stood. Wraith took a step towards him.   
  
"I am a Mage," she whispered, tasting the word that was at once foreign and familiar. "That is what Grindelwald named me. Tell me why he could do what my own Lord could not?"    
  
"You did not need to know," Voldemort said, his voice soft and low again, his tone cautious.   
  
"But I  _wanted_  to," Wraith said to him, "You've given me so much, why not this?"   
  
Voldemort slapped down the hand that had so carefully reached out to him. "If I were to name what you are, 'Mage' would be the closest," he said, "But the Magi of the past were little more than accidents of birth, anomalies in pure-blood families. You were created with greater purpose."   
  
"Greater purpose," Wraith replied softly.   
  
Something in her snapped. She leapt at him, clawed hands reaching for his throat. Voldemort grabbed her by her wrists, holding her back.   
  
"Greater purpose!?" she snarled at him, fighting tooth and nail against his hold. "I was made to be nothing more than a tool! A power source for you to glut yourself upon! Whatever I have become for you now, don't you  _dare_  try to pretty that up! You would have left me in Azkaban if it had suited you! I would have died there!"   
  
"Don't assume that you won't still!" Voldemort told her.   
  
He pushed her back and she stumbled, falling to the ground. Before she could rise again, Voldemort knelt beside her, grabbing her roughly by her hair and pulling back her head.   
  
"Whatever you have become for me, don't you dare forget that I am your Lord and Master!" he hissed, "Your life is mine to give or to take from you. I could strip you of your power, every drop of your strength, and keep you on the ragged edge of death for the rest of your miserable life. You've your strength and freedom, such as it is, only because it suits my purpose. I shouldn't have to remind you how easily I could change my mind."   
  
He released his hold on her, shoving her back onto the ground as he stood. "One could think that our arrangement has made you forget your place," Voldemort said smoothly, "Let us correct that mistake."   
  
Even though she was ready for the pain and had been since the moment had released Grindelwald, Wraith could not fight the scream that was ripped from her along with her power.   
  
  
  
  
He left her bleeding on the forest floor. After the pain subsided, Wraith realized that Voldemort had simply walked away from her. She turned onto her side and curled her legs up to her chest.   
  
True night had fallen now and the forest was dark and alive with sound. Wraith lay still, lacking the strength to stand. She closed her eyes, still battling the strange fire that had filled her when Grindelwald had give name to what she was. She felt the blood under her nose and her throat was raw from screaming—and yet, as she lay there, Wraith felt oddly at peace. How easy it would be to lay there and never rise again. How easy…   
  
"Apologies."   
  
Wraith's eyes snapped open. Grindelwald knelt a few feet away from her.   
  
"He punished you but good, little Mage. Can you stand?"   
  
Wraith shook her head. "Net even if I wanted to," she whispered hoarsely, "Go away, wizard. I want not your help."   
  
Grindelwald waited a beat and then, with a sigh, he stood.   
  
"Wait."   
  
The dark wizard paused at her word.   
  
Wraith lifted her head slightly. "Your wand…Voldemort wanted your wand. It was that which you stole from Albus's tomb."   
  
"Yes," Grindelwald said simply.   
  
"Good to know," Wraith murmured, laying her head back down. "Why did you come back?"  
  
"I did not go far," Grindelwald told her, "I heard you scream."   
  
"You returned out of the goodness of your heart?" Wraith asked with a sneer.   
  
"Curiosity."   
  
"Ah," Wraith murmured, smiling slightly. Then she grimaced and rose up to retch, the taste of blood vile on her tongue.   
  
Grindelwald tilted his head to the side as he watched the bright red blood fall from her lips. His face darkened. "I had no high opinion of your Lord," he said, "and I am no one to cast stones. But he has meddled in something here that twists the natural order."   
  
Wraith laughed under her breath, spitting bitterly, "And you have not?"   
  
"Of course I did," Grindelwald said haughtily, "in my errant youth. I have learned better since."   
  
"Oh, of course."   
  
Wraith's eyes fluttered shut and Grindelwald fell silent. Very slowly, he approached and knelt beside her. She had slipped out of consciousness. Grindelwald touched a hand underneath her cheek, turning her face upwards.   
  
"I know what that fool did," he murmured, "but I've no clue as to  _how_  he did it. Nor what this bond between you really is. You will find me again, Lady Mage, and we shall speak further."    
  
  
  
  
When Wraith woke again, she was in the comfort of her own bed. Puzzlement filled her, for she could not remember how she had come to be there. Clara was curled up beside her, clinging tight to one of Wraith's hands.   
  
The room was dimly lit by the fireplace, spilling shadows into the corners. Wraith sat up slowly, keeping her hand wrapped in Clara's. Harper was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, a book open in his hand. When Wraith stirred, his head snapped up. Seeing that she was awake, a smile broke the morose expression fixed on his face.   
  
"My Lady," he said, standing and crossing to the bed, " _Dieu merci_ , I'm glad to see you up."   
  
Wraith returned his smile and reached with her free hand to take his. "What happened?" she asked him, "The last thing I can remember is the forest…"   
  
"The Dark Lord returned to the Manor without you," Harper said, "Clara and I didn't know what to think, especially since he was in such a fine and foul mood. We waited almost an hour before he ordered us out to the forest to collect you."   
  
"You found me then," Wraith murmured, "You brought me back."   
  
"We did," Harper said. He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned forward to kiss Wraith's cheek. He squeezed her hand in his and the smile on his face faltered, "He punished you. Why?"   
  
"I did something very….spiteful," Wraith said slowly, "He was…understandably upset with me." Her eyes fell to Clara, still sleeping beside her, and their entwined hands. "What time is it? How long was I out?"  
  
"It's nearly three in the morning," Harper said.   
  
Wraith blinked at him. "And yet you're still awake?"   
  
"I caught a couple of hours here on the couch," he said with a shrug, "But I woke a little while ago and couldn't get back to sleep. How do you feel?"  
  
"Like I've been wrung bone-dry," Wraith replied evenly. She closed her eyes a moment at a flash of dizziness.   
  
Harper saw it in her face and released her hand. "Get some more sleep," he told her, "I'm staying here tonight, so we'll both be here when you wake."   
  
"You don't have to do that, Harper," Wraith said as he stood up.   
  
"I want to," he said simply.   
  
Wraith looked up at him. In her weariness, she could not help but wonder why. Here were two who knew her for the monster she was and loved her anyway. What had she done to merit them? Wraith lay back down, turning to Clara's sleeping form. She felt Harper touch a hand to her hair before he was gone. With them near, Wraith slipped easily back into sleep.   
  
  
  
  
For all of her exhaustion, Wraith did not sleep all that long. Her mind burned with what she had learned the night before, about herself, about the thing that the Dark Lord had been seeking all those months abroad.  
  
It was just past dawn when she slipped from her bed, moving slowly and painfully towards her bookshelves. Clara slept away on the bed, Harper on the couch. Neither stirred and Wraith hoped to keep it that way for a while yet. She reached her books and pulled down one she had borrowed from the Hogwarts' library.   
  
 _Tales of Beedle the Bard._    
  
Wraith moved to sit in the chair by the fire, which had all but died away. In its meager light, she turned to one particular story.  _The Tale of the Three Brothers_. Once more, she read the story of the brothers, of their arrogance, their misery, and their wisdom. But this time it was with greater understanding.   
  
 _A wand more powerful than any in existence; a wand that must always win duels for its owner; a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death!_  
  
So, such a thing did exist. It had been in Dumbledore's possession and now it was in the hands of Grindelwald—and the Dark Lord wanted it. She didn't have to guess at why. She understood her Lord. He feared Death like nothing else, sought immortality and boasted that he had done so. Even the very idea of such a wand would have inflamed him.   
  
Wraith closed the book, wishing she had the strength to make a journey to Hogwarts. She wanted—no,  _needed_ —to speak with Dumbledore. He had been buried with the wand, surely he knew much about it.   
  
And about Grindelwald. It struck Wraith as strange, now that she thought about it, that Grindelwald had apologized at Dumbledore's grave. The story that everyone knew was that Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald in a great duel, putting an end to the dark wizard's attempt to make the world his own. Yet if they had been such foes, why did it seem they had been on a first name basis? Why was there regret in Grindelwald's voice when he had plundered his former enemy's tomb?   
  
There were a hundred questions Wraith wished to ask of Dumbledore. Maybe now that she knew of the wand—the Elder Wand—he would speak more freely.   
  
Running her hand over the faded cover of Beedle's book, Wraith closed her eyes against a fresh wave of dizziness. Her limbs shook sporadically and it took great will for her to keep herself in the chair. Voldemort had done more damage to her than she had realized.   
  
As if her thoughts had conjured him, Wraith felt the echo of the Dark Lord's presence at the bottom of her tower. She tried to sit up straighter and felt only a twinge of pain at the attempt. "Harper," she called out softly, "Antony, wake up."   
  
On the couch, Harper stirred, sitting up slowly. "What is it?" he asked in a whisper.   
  
"Wake Clara," she ordered, "He's coming."   
  
Coming fully awake, Harper sprang up, darting to the bed to shake Clara's shoulder. Clara made a noise akin to a growl, but somehow she sensed Harper's urgency and she was able to pull herself out of bed. "What's going on?" she asked in a sleep-blurred voice.   
  
"The Dark Lord's on his way up," Harper told her, "We need to be ready to leave."   
  
"Antony," Wraith said. Harper went to her side, kneeling by the chair. Wraith held out the book to him. "Put this away for me," she said, her eyes on the door, "Quickly."   
  
Harper took the book and replaced it on the shelf just as a loud singular knock came from the door. Clara and Harper froze.   
  
"Answer the door," Wraith said softly, breaking their paralysis.   
  
Harper steeled himself as he crossed the room to pull open the tower door. Voldemort looked down on him with a sneer.   
  
"Leave us," Wraith instructed.   
  
Harper looked over to Clara, who was still shrugging on her robe. Not bothering to tie it, Clara hurried to Harper's side and their stepped around the Dark Lord as he entered the tower.   
  
Closing the door behind him, Voldemort surveyed his Wraith with sharp eyes. She returned his sharp gaze.   
  
"Good morning, my Lord," she said softly, "I would rise, but…" She let her voice trail off, her lips twisted in a self-deprecating manner.   
  
Voldemort sat in the chair across from hers. "Your chosen servants are inexplicably loyal," he told her.   
  
"They love me." At Voldemort's pronounced sneer, Wraith had to smile. "Yes, I know your thoughts on love. But it has its uses nonetheless."   
  
"I had not fully expected you to be conscious yet," Voldemort said lightly.   
  
"Ah, perhaps I am merely sleepwalking then."   
  
"I grow tired of your tongue, pet."   
  
Wraith lowered her eyes. "I do not blame you," she murmured.   
  
She could feel the chill emanating from him, his anger burning cold.   
  
"…I'm sorry," Wraith whispered, "for what I did. I was angry. I was spiteful. But I've no excuse for letting Grindelwald escape like that."   
  
There was a moment of silence before Voldemort spoke. "Well," he murmured, "It would seem that Hell has frozen over sometime in the night."  
  
Wraith lifted her eyes to his again. "Are you going to punish me again?"   
  
"I think not," Voldemort replied evenly, "You seem to have learned your lesson."   
  
"Then may I ask you a question?"   
  
"If you must."   
  
"…Did you suspect that Grindelwald would know what I was? Is that why you never sent me to hunt him for you?"   
  
"I suspected, yes," Voldemort admitted, "But the hunt is mine alone. That is why I did not send you."   
  
"Why couldn't you have just told me?" Wraith asked him, her voice trembling despite herself, "I should not have to learn these things from the lips of our foe."   
  
"That was a misstep on my part," Voldemort said, "Though, I do admit that I do not understand your fury."   
  
"Neither do I," Wraith whispered, looking away. She felt a single tear run down her cheek, cold on her skin.   
  
"Wraith."   
  
She dashed the tear away and looked at Voldemort.   
  
"I do consider you the best of what is mine. You have proved time and time again to be more valuable than I could have ever expected. But if you ever again show me such disrespect, I  _will_  put you back in Azkaban."   
  
Wraith seemed to shrink into herself at the softly delivered threat. She sat in silence, her silver tongue hobbled by her fear.   
  
Voldemort sighed, sitting back in his chair. "Can you stand?" he asked her.   
  
"I doubt it," she replied tightly.   
  
The Dark Lord stood, stepping over to her chair. Wraith flinched when he reached out a hand. Unmoved by her obvious fear, Voldemort reached down and took her up into his arms. Despite the fear and fury inside her, Wraith clung to him, closing her eyes. Voldemort carried her to the bed and laid her gently upon it.   
  
"Rest," he told her, "Recover your strength. There is little doubt that we will need it soon."   
  
"Yes, my Lord."   
  
Voldemort ran his hand over her hair once more before he left the tower. Only when she felt his presence fade away did Wraith open her eyes again.   
  
If Voldemort had still been in the room, he would never again believe that she was loyal to him. Not with the utter hatred that burned there in her gaze.   
  
"I will  _kill_  you before I let you lock me away again," Wraith promised in a soft and deadly whisper.   
  
  
  
  
Sometime in the late afternoon, Wraith lifted her eyes from the book in her lap and stared out the window. She was laid across the chaise beneath the glass, the soft sunlight streaming in from behind a thin layer of cloud.   
  
"Clara, do you smoke?"   
  
Clara blinked, looking up from the dress designs she had spread out on the floor around her. "On occasion," she said with a shrug.   
  
"Do you have any on you?"   
  
Clara shook her head with an apologetic smile. Harper stood up from the couch, crossing to the chaise. He offered a thin cigarette to his Lady. Wraith looked slightly surprised. She had only ever seen Harper smoke in large company before. But she took the cigarette from him and allowed him to light it for her. She pushed open the window a crack, letting the smoke drift out in spirals.   
  
"Since when do you smoke?" Harper asked her, sitting on the other end of the chaise.   
  
Wraith smirked, still staring out the window. "Never really have before," she admitted, "but I seem to be of a mood today." She breathed in the smoke, closing her eyes. "I suppose they remind me of a friend."   
  
"That vampire of yours?" Clara asked from the floor.   
  
"Yes," Wraith said, "I haven't written him in ages. I should correct that today, I think."   
  
Clara abandoned the sketches and moved to sit on the floor beside the chaise, putting herself next to Harper's legs. "How're you feeling?" she asked Wraith.   
  
"Well and fully drained," Wraith muttered bitterly.   
  
"Tony, give us one of those," Clara said, lightly punching Harper's leg.   
  
Harper grinned and pulled out his cigarettes again. Clara lit one and stood up so that she could flick the ash out the window like Wraith was.   
  
"You know," Wraith said lightly, "I'm not sure that I see the appeal of these things."   
  
"It's an acquired taste," Harper told her, "They're good for when you want to do a little damage, albeit to yourself."   
  
"Hmph," Wraith said, "Guess they won't do me any good then."   
  
"Point taken," Harper said.   
  
"Anybody against me breaking out the whiskey tonight?" Clara asked.   
  
"No arguments here," Harper replied and Wraith shook her head.   
  
"There," Clara said, "Now we've something to look forward to."   
  
"Antony, will you bring Severus here to me?"   
  
Harper blinked at the sudden request. "Of course, my Lady," he said gently, standing up. "I'll return with him shortly."   
  
"Thank you," Wraith said softly, catching his hand in hers.   
  
Harper smiled, bringing her hand to his lips. "I won't be but a moment," he promised.   
  
When he had left, Clara took his place on the chaise, looking at Wraith with worried eyes. "Want me to get parchment and ink for you?" she asked.   
  
Wraith glanced at her in surprise and then she smiled gratefully. "Yes," she said, "Thank you, Clara-dove. I don't know what I would do without you—or Antony."   
  
"Yeah," Clara said, standing. She leaned down to kiss Wraith's forehead. "We know."   
  
  
  
  
When Harper returned with Snape fifteen minutes later, Clara had set Wraith up with parchment, quill, and a heavy book laid across her lap to write on. Clara herself had gone back to her sketches on the floor in front of the wardrobe.   
  
"Wraith."   
  
Her head snapped up and her eyes immediately lit to Snape. "Severus," she said, "Thank you for coming."   
  
Harper went around Snape to reach Clara. "Come on, sweet," he said, taking her hand. He looked to Wraith. "If you need anything, we'll be close."   
  
"Thank you, Antony, again," Wraith told him.   
  
Clara blew an impetuous kiss to Wraith before she let Harper pull her from the tower.   
  
Alone now, Snape studied Wraith closely. "What happened to you?" he demanded swiftly.   
  
Wraith licked dry lips, looking away from him. "The Dark Lord and I had a bit of trouble last night. With Grindelwald."  
  
Snape inhaled sharply and he took a step closer to where she sat. "Are you alright? Were you harmed?"   
  
"Yes, but not by him," Wraith said with a twisted and bitter smile, "There's something I haven't told you. I'm not even sure why I didn't."   
  
Snape said nothing, he merely waited.   
  
"I've come across Grindelwald before, a few times now. He's been shadowing the boundaries of the Manor for months, but my protections have kept him out."   
  
"Let…let me see if I understand you," Snape said slowly, "Grindelwald…the wizard who tried to take Europe by the throat half a century ago…you've just been...'running into him'?"   
  
"The first time I saw him was that night of the new moon," Wraith said, "When the Dark Lord had offered Lupin to Rafe and his pack. You recall how that particular party ended?"   
  
"How could I forget?" Snape muttered, recalling perfectly how he had been forced to cut a bullet from Wraith's spine.   
  
"Before we were attacked, I'd felt something odd at the Manor's border. I searched it out—and I found him. He said nothing that night. He tipped his hat to me and vanished. But I believe that it was  _him_  that told the Order where the Manor was, where they could find Lupin."   
  
"And you've seen him since then?"   
  
"Not long after you gave me Hakuul," she said, "I'd taken him out riding early in the morning. I felt Grindelwald testing the protections I'd placed. I was curious…so I went to him. I confronted him about breaking into Dumbledore's tomb and I asked him what he took. He told me to read up on my fairy tales," she added with a smirk.   
  
" _Fairy tales_?"   
  
Wraith's smirk became a grin and she waved a hand at the bookshelves. " _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ ," she said, "Are you familiar with them?"   
  
"Not especially," Snape replied with a sneer, "They're children's' stories. Ridiculous fancies." His sneer deepened into a pensive scowl. "Why would he have even been out there in the first place? —Do you believe Grindelwald is trying to get to the Dark Lord?" Snape asked her.   
  
Wraith slowly shook her head. "He came back for  _me_ , Severus. Grindelwald had no interest in Voldemort. He returned to find me."   
  
"What did he want?" Snape asked, unable to imagine a reason.   
  
"To talk," Wraith replied, "He…incapacitated Voldemort so we could speak privately. He told me…that he knew what I was." She closed her eyes and took a steeling breath. "…And that I should not exist." Wraith shook her head as if to clear it. "He was almost  _angry_  with the Dark Lord, because of  _me_. Because Voldemort had created me."   
  
"He claimed to know what you are," Snape reminded her, "Did he tell you what that was?"   
  
"He said…that I was something called a Mage," Wraith whispered.   
  
" _Mage_?" Snape repeated, frowning, "I'm sorry to say it's nothing I've ever heard of."   
  
"Nor I," Wraith said, "But I believed him, Severus. That word…something in me  _recognized_  it."   
  
"What happened to you, Wraith?" Snape asked again, "I can see quite clearly that you've been weakened."   
  
"Voldemort woke," Wraith told him, her voice soft and slow, "…and watched as I let Grindelwald go."  
  
"…You were punished," Snape said, his voice low.   
  
"Thoroughly," Wraith replied wryly. "But there's more," she added softly.   
  
"What?" Snape asked, his tone indicating that he wasn't all that sure he wanted to know.   
  
"I know what Grindelwald stole," Wraith said, looking up at him again, "I know what the Dark Lord was hunting for all those months before Grindelwald ransacked Dumbledore's tomb."   
  
Snape's eyes narrowed and he moved to sit on the chaise beside Wraith. "What was so precious that Dumbledore had to be buried with it?"   
  
Wraith could see in Snape's eyes that she was not the only one who had grown tired of Dumbledore's evasive replies. "It's called the Elder Wand," she told him, "During the fight last night, Voldemort ordered me to take Grindelwald's wand. After it was over, Grindelwald admitted to me that it was the wand that he had taken. Remember, Severus, I'd already gotten the clue about the fairy tales and there is one tale that I found myself rereading after last night.  _The Tale of the Three Brothers_. Three brothers traveling along a path at twilight; they meet Death and think they've outwitted him. Each brother is offered a prize of their choosing. The first brother tell Death that he wants an unbeatable wand, worthy of one who has conquered Death himself."  
  
"You cannot be serious," Snape said flatly.   
  
"Deadly," Wraith retorted, "Whoever holds the Elder Wand will always win his duels. He could be as untouchable as  _I_ am. And I, for one, do not want to see any more power placed in the Dark Lord's hand."   
  
"So," Snape said, "Now we've yet another task. Not only must we hunt down the Horcruxes and find a way to free you—we must also keep this…'Elder Wand' out of his reach."   
  
"Well, at least we're never bored," Wraith said with a cheshire grin.


	86. Hanging By A Thread

 

_“What it lies in our power to do, it lies in our power not to do.”_

 

 

 

 

The Dark Lord kept his distance for the rest of that day, and the next. Hour by hour, Wraith felt herself becoming whole again, her natural power returning slowly. When evening fell for the third time since Wraith had seen the Dark Lord, however, she began to fear that she had lost any hold she’d had on him. He had not left the Manor, she could feel him through their bond, but he had not come near her. 

Harper and Clara couldn’t help but notice their Lady’s anxiety. As soon as she was strong enough to stand, she had begun to pace the floor. Nothing they said seemed able to distract her, though they did try.

“Why does he not come?” Wraith murmured for the thousandth time as the sun set on the Manor, “Is he angry with me still? No,” she corrected herself, “If he were still displeased, he would make it more obvious. Perhaps he stays away out of spite. That would suit him.”

“My Lady?” Harper said gently.

Wraith did not reply. She had been murmuring to herself off and on for a good while now and he was becoming concerned. Clara had retreated to Harper’s room to try and get a little sleep, but they had agreed that at least one of them should remain with Wraith at all times.

With a heavy sigh, Harper crossed to where Wraith paced and took firm hold of her shoulder. She tensed, turning to face him.

“If you don’t stop pacing like this,” Harper told her, “I will bloody well tie you down. Sit,” he commanded, pointing to the couch.

Wraith stared at him blankly, but did as ordered. She sat on the edge of the couch, running hands through her hair in exasperation. 

“You, my dearest Lady, worry too much,” Harper told her flatly as he sat beside her, “The Dark Lord will come around. He always does.”

“I cannot lose my hold on him, Harper,” Wraith said sharply, “This will all have been for nothing if he slips out of my grasp now. I’m so _close—_ ”

"You've lost nothing," Harper assured her, "He's far too caught up in you now, my Lady. He's not going to cast you aside. He needs you too much."

Wraith turned her head to look at him. "You believe so?"

"I do," Harper said simply, "So, stop worrying."

Wraith smirked, the bitter expression the closest thing he'd seen to a smile from her in hours.

Harper reached over and took her hand in his, holding it tight. "Why don't you go have a nice relaxing bath?" he suggested, "Empty your mind for a little while."

"I like the idea of that," Wraith said with a sigh. "Okay," she said after a moment, "Go spend a little time with Clara, Antony. I'll take that bath and then settle down for the night."

Harper kissed her hand and stood up. "Call if you need anything," he said.

"Of course," she replied.

 

 

 

 

Wraith laid back in the soothingly hot water, breathing in the soft scents of the rose and sage she'd added to the bath. All was quiet around her. Between the sweet silence and the comfort of the water, Wraith found that she was able to do as Harper had suggested and empty her mind. For just a little while, she did not think of the Dark Lord, or the Death Eaters and everyone else who feared her. She did not think of all that she had learned about her origins. She did not think of Edwin.

Strangely, in the emptiness of her mind, she heard a distant melody. The same song that had been haunting her since Hogwarts. She vaguely recalled trying to write it out in the blank songbook Snape had given her for Christmas, but it had never come easily. It wasn't a song for piano. Wraith thought she heard strings, but it didn't sound like any instrument she'd ever heard before. She could not place it. She began to hum the melody idly, twirling her fingers in the water around her.

Wraith very nearly slipped into sleep, but the Dark Lord's presence outside the door shattered her calm completely. She tensed, her eyes going to the door that she had locked. Should she unlock it? Why did he not knock?

Wraith waited, unmoving in the bath. Though she was loath to give it up, she sent a small spark of power along their bond, offering a silent invitation. There was a _click_ as the bathroom door unlocked and Voldemort stepped inside. Wraith looked up at him, wondering why at last he had come to see her.

Voldemort considered her, rather surprised that she had not greeted him with her usually glib tongue. "Are you finished?" he asked her. Wraith nodded silently. "Then stand," he ordered.

He reached for a folded towel as Wraith carefully climbed out of the water. She held her arms out so that Voldemort could wrap the towel around her torso.

Taking clear advantage of his proximity, Wraith took his face in her hands and brought his lips to hers. Voldemort breathed in the scent of her, wrapping one arm around her waist and twisting the other hand in her hair. Wraith slipped her arms around the back of his neck and clung even when he pulled his mouth from hers to catch his breath.

For a long moment, they stood in the circle of each other's arms. Wraith ran a hand down his cheek, as close as she could be to him.

"Please tell me that you forgive me," she whispered pleadingly.

Voldemort smiled and it infuriated Wraith to see such arrogance in him. But she did not let her ire show; she did not dare. "My pet," the Dark Lord murmured, "Have you missed me then?"

Wraith felt her lips twist into a mix of a smile and snarl. "Keep talking," she warned, "and I'll end up bleeding you again."

"Ah, _there_ is my sweet-tongued pet," Voldemort murmured, "I'd wondered where you had gone." In a swift motion, Voldemort caught her up in his arms. "Is your tower empty?"

"Yes," Wraith said after a moment's check to be sure. She grinned and nipped gently at his ear since it was within reach.

Voldemort hissed, but carried her from the bathroom and up the tower steps without scolding her. Wraith risked a little more precious power to get the door open as they reached it and Voldemort shouldered it closed once they were inside. He all but threw her back onto the bed and she laughed delightedly. She pulled off the towel as Voldemort drew off his robes, both articles ending up on the floor. Voldemort crawled over her on the bed and Wraith drew him into her arms. Nothing more was spoken between them for some time after.

 

 

 

Wraith lay quietly in the circle of Voldemort's arms, idly running gentle fingers up and down his shoulder. Voldemort was all but falling asleep, well sated after the days of denying not only his Wraith, but himself of the pleasure of her company.

"You had me worried for a while there," Wraith admitted, lightly touching her lips to the hollow of his throat.

"That had been my intention," he replied, "But then it occurred to me that I have never denied myself anything, so why should I do so now?"

Wraith laughed under her breath and tilted her head back to press her mouth to his. "I give thanks for your voracity," she murmured around a cheshire smile.

They slipped into silence again, Wraith tucking her head at the crook of his shoulder. He did not usually like it when she clung and it was only in sleep that he clung to her. And yet…he held her close now. Had he truly missed being with her? Was Harper right? —Did he well and truly _need_ her? The thought made her smile—and it was not a kind expression.

Wraith felt his hand drift up and down her side and she felt him sigh. "I've had a selfish thought," she told him softly.

"Not unusual," Voldemort replied wryly, "Share it, pet."

"I…You told me that you approve of my plan for the future," she reminded him, sitting up slightly so that she could see his face, "I've been thinking that there is something else this plan gives us that the original did not."

"What is it?" Voldemort asked.

"I know you've no need for an heir," Wraith said, her words a little rushed and nervous, "and you dislike the idea of someone of my power and your blood combined, but—"

Her voice trailed off and Voldemort frowned at her, pushing himself up so that his head was above hers. He touched a hand to her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his.

 "What are you asking for, my Wraith?"

"…A child," she whispered, "your child. Someday."

Voldemort said nothing. The silence seemed to stretch on forever and Wraith was quite ready to curse herself for playing her hand too soon. But Voldemort looked to her completely shell-shocked. Whatever he had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been _that._

"I have _never_ considered having a child," he told her at last.

"I understand that," Wraith said quickly, "But here's the beauty of the situation: No one will know who fathered my children, not even the children need know. If you give me a child, he would never need know that you are his father. You could raise him to power, you could watch your blood and the blood of Slytherin thrive, and you wouldn't have to worry about him trying to take your place. You could even, if you wanted, give it a few generations and then reveal their ancestry."  She tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowed dangerously as Voldemort’s silence crept on. “…Are you not at all curious to see what a child of your blood could do?”

Voldemort looked at her sharply, hearing the absolute challenge in her voice. “It would be…interesting to see,” he said at last, “Why is this something you want?” he asked her.

“I am a selfish creature,” she said wryly, “I want a piece of you.”

“You want a bargaining chip to use against me.”

“The thought crossed my mind,” Wraith admitted freely, “But it was just as quickly dismissed. You would not lower yourself so to have your blood used against you. _I_ want to see what the mixing our bloodlines could accomplish.”

“I will think on it,” Voldemort told her. He rose from the bed to dress.

“Thank you.”

He glanced at her as he pulled on his robes. “It is rare that someone surprises me,” he said, “You have.”

Wraith smirked in reply and shrugged lightly. “Will my children be like me?” she asked, “Will each be a Mage?”

“That is unlikely,” Voldemort told her, “The Magi of the past were rare, sometimes only appearing once in a generation.”

“Then there is a chance that your child would not be a threat.”

“Yes, there is that chance,” he agreed, “We’re done speaking of this, pet.”

“As you wish,” Wraith said slowly, “My Lord.”

Voldemort paused a moment more before he turned and left her alone in the tower. Wraith smiled slowly, sharply, as she lay back down in her bed. She stretched out like an entitled cat, all but purring. _No, it won’t be much longer now. I will have my freedom…and Voldemort himself will hand me the keys to my cage._

 

 

 

 

Several days later, Clara woke Wraith with tea. Wraith blinked to see the older girl awake before her and then she glanced out of the window to see the sun shining with mid-morning light. She lay back on the bed, groaning.

“You’re still sleeping late,” Clara said, sitting on the bed, a cup of coffee in her hand, “How are you feeling?”

“Not quite as tired as I was yesterday,” Wraith answered bitterly, “I don’t think I’d realized how much he took from me. It’s been a week, Clare, and I’m still not back to full strength.”

“At least you’ve managed to keep the Dark Lord ensnared,” Clara said, “You’ve woven yourself right back into his graces. I can’t think of anybody else who could make him _that_ angry and live to find his forgiveness.”

“Hm,” Wraith murmured, staring up at the ceiling, “It is a fine thin line to tread…between the Dark Lord’s anger and his interest.”

“You tread it well,” Clara offered softly.

Wraith sighed, turning her head to see Clara’s face. She smiled just slightly. “I’m glad you’re here, Clare.”

Clara grinned, “So am I,” she admitted, “Who’d turn down front row seats to the destabilizing of the most powerful wizard on the earth?”

Wraith shook her head, sitting up and taking the tea Clara had brought. She sat quietly for a few minutes, trying to clear her head. Her mind felt heavy, her blood seemed to simmer hotly beneath her skin. It took that quiet contemplation to realize that she was angry. Terrible and vicious fury was burning in her, like water set to a long slow boil.

“Hm,” she murmured the sound, as if she had made a simple curious discovery.

“What is it?” Clara asked, sipping at her coffee.

“I’m furious, Clare,” Wraith said simply, “I am absolutely furious with him for what he’s done. I thought my anger would have faded a bit, but it is still there, just as strong.”

“I’d say that understandable,” Clara replied softly. She felt a touch of disquiet at the calm, practical tone of Wraith’s voice.

“Where is Harper?” Wraith asked, noticing that he was not there with them.

“Well, he might still be asleep,” Clara said coyly, “He was up rather late last night.”

Wraith blinked and then burst into delighted laughter. Oh, Clara, you didn’t!”

“Damn right I did,” Clara said with a proud tilt of her head, “and damn if it wasn’t good.”

“Oh, good gods,” Wraith said, shaking her head. She sighed, fighting the urge to keep laughing. “Well, if you wouldn’t mind waking him…?”

“Be happy to,” Clara said, bouncing up. She leaned down and kissed Wraith’s cheek. “I’ll bring him up.”

 

 

 

Clara dragged Harper up to the tower and Wraith couldn’t help but be delighted at the slightly sheepish look on his face. Neither she nor Clare brought up the previous night however, giving him a bit of a reprieve. The three sat together at one of the windows, speaking of nothing of importance. It was times like this that Wraith was so terribly grateful for them both. Their company, their _friendship_ …it kept her human.

“Are you feeling any better?” Harper asked her after a little while.

“Slightly,” Wraith replied, looking out the window rather than at either of her friends, “I’ve a ways to go yet, unfortunately.”

Clara moved to sit beside Wraith at the window. “You look a bit better,” Clara told her, “But also tired. Is he letting you get any sleep?”

Wraith smirked, “Enough of it. Truthfully, I’d go without sleep entirely if it ensured he remained in my influence.”

“How close do you think you are to being free of him?” Clara asked in a whisper.

“Very,” Wraith replied with a sharp sort of smile, “We’re talking of a few months at most, I think. I’ve a few more seeds to plant in mind, but I’m close enough that I can taste it. And I will be free.”

“Free to find Edwin,” Clara said.

“Free to build a life,” Wraith said, “The life I want with him. I miss him so much, Clare.”

“I know,” Clara murmured, moving to touch her hand to Wraith’s pale cheek.

“My Lady,” Harper interrupted gently, “I’ve a question to ask you.”

Wraith glanced over at him, surprised by his caution. “You should know by now that you can ask me anything,” Wraith told him, “What is it?”

“Clara mentioned your temper,” Harper said, “and that you feel as if it’s growing worse. Care to elaborate?”

Wraith was not quick with her answer. For a few minutes, she contemplated the question and the own heat of her blood. “I’ve always had a short temper,” she murmured, “A vicious one, really. But since the encounter with Grindelwald, I’ve realized how much worse it is. At first, I thought it was Grindelwald naming me for what I was that sparked it—but it wasn’t that. This anger has been building, burning, ever since I found that room beneath the dungeons. Whatever it was that I found there woke something up inside me. And that something is angry with the world and everything in it. I’ve been tempted by it a time or two to burn this place to the ground around me.”

“Have you spoken to Snape about this?” Harper asked.

“Not really,” Wraith murmured, “but he knows, nonetheless.” She sighed deeply, closing her eyes. “I have to stay aware of it, this anger. I’m rather afraid that in my temper, I will let something slip to the Dark Lord and everything I’ve worked for will be for nothing.”

Clara, still pale from Wraith’s description of the underlying fury, drew the girl closer and kissed her cheek. “You should rest while you can,” she said simply, “He’ll no doubt want to see you tonight.” 

 

 

 

Voldemort lifted his eyes from the heavy tome set before him. “My Lady,” he murmured, “You seem revived.”

“I’m feeling much so, my Lord,” Wraith said, leaning her hip against the edge of his desk, “Are you busy?” she asked, reaching out to brush her fingertips along the weathered page of his book, “Should I come back later?”

“No,” Voldemort said, “This is getting me nowhere in any case.” He shut the book with a heavy thud and Wraith caught sight of the title, written in faded gilded letters.

“Reading up on the enemy, are we?” 

“Grindelwald has quite the colorful past,” Voldemort said with the slightest sneer.

“Seems especially so when you consider that he was once the best of friends with Albus Dumbledore,” Wraith said dryly, “Did you ever read that Skeeter woman’s book?”

“No,” Voldemort replied, sitting back, “I admit, I had no interest. Dumbledore is dead and gone and can do me no more harm.”

 _So you think_. Wraith smiled slowly, “Actually, I picked up the book just today. I was curious when my Clara told me of Dumbledore’s connection to Grindelwald. I wondered if the connection could be of use in manipulating the old dog.”

“As I’ve told you before, pet, Grindelwald is not your concern.”

“But, my Lord, he is your concern—and your concerns are mine.”

“A sweet sentiment, dear one.”

“And a practical one,” Wraith added, moving closer.

“Practical?” Voldemort murmured skeptically as he slipped a hand up to her waist, “How so?”

“My fate is tied to you,” Wraith said, slipping down to sit in his lap, “As you rise, so shall I. If you were to fall…well. Best to be aware of your enemies, my Lord and love, for they are also mine.”

“I suppose I see the logic in that,” Voldemort said.

“And Grindelwald is a special case,” Wraith continued, “For he has an interest in _me_. It would be foolish not to be concerned with that.”

Voldemort’s face darkened at the thought. Wraith tilted her head to the side, leaning forward just enough to brush her lips over his. “We could use that,” she whispered, “should other avenues fail you. I do not object to being ‘bait’ to bring that interfering bastard to heel.”

“My dear pet…so very…practical,” Voldemort said slowly.

Wraith smiled sharply and deepened the kiss between them. “Take me upstairs,” she told him, “I find I have a need for you.”

“Terribly convenient,” Voldemort replied, taking her up into his arms as he stood, “I find I have a need for you as well.”

 

 

 

Wraith stretched and curled like a contented cat beside the Dark Lord, a twinge of bloodlust still slithering through her. Voldemort sat up, reaching back to touch the scratches on his shoulders, trailing down his back in painful lines.

“You’ve marked me again, pet.”

“I was in a mood to,” Wraith told him with a wicked smile, “You were of a similar mood, so don’t bother snapping at me.” She turned to lie on her stomach and Voldemort saw the fading bruises along the lines of her hips. He touched a gentle hand to the shadows that marred the pale skin, his eyes thoughtful. “If I didn’t heal like I did, I’d probably be in a bit of pain right now,” Wraith told him wryly, turning back on her side. Something dark glittered in her eyes. “Something to consider in the future, I suppose.”

“What is that?” Voldemort asked, intrigued by the glint in her eyes.

“My tolerance,” Wraith replied coyly.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed even as he smiled. He moved smoothly over the bed, pinning her down. “Dangerous path to consider, pet,” he whispered in her ear, “to give me permission to hurt you.”

“It’s not as if lack of permission has ever stopped you before.”

“But still…” His teeth closed over her ear and Wraith felt the sharp quick pain.

“My Lord,” she said, turning to catch his mouth with hers, “You _are_ my pain. It’s all tied up with you. There’s no point in denying that.” She bit down on his lip slightly and shifted her hips beneath him in invitation, “So why bother?”

“Why indeed?” Voldemort whispered, slipping inside her again. He took pleasure in the way her eyes clouded over and the hitching breath in her throat. He marked her throat with his teeth, almost drawing blood, but holding back at the last moment. Her nails traced the fresh lines in his skin, sending small waves of pain to mix with the pleasure.

His Wraith’s contented smile went sharp and dangerous just before he found himself on his back beneath her. She leaned down, but as her lips brushed his, she cried out in sudden pain. She pushed away from him, grasping her left arm to her chest. Voldemort felt the Mark burn the moment she had and he screamed a curse.

Moving swiftly, he rolled out of the bed and dressed. Wraith was only a second behind him. Information had come through the Dark Mark that could not be ignored. The Order had finally come out of hiding again, launching an attack on one of their smaller bases, no doubt an attempt to free the prisoners being held there.

“We have to move quickly,” Voldemort said as the pair of them headed down the twisting steps of his tower, “If Potter is there, you find him and bring him to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Wraith replied.

In the entrance hall waited the Death Eaters in residence, Harper among them. Wraith used a small spark of her magic and the color of her dress faded to a pale snowy white as she and Voldemort descended the stair to meet them.

“Leave no survivors,” Voldemort commanded of them, “It is time to bring this to an end.”   

 

 

 

 

They Apparated right into the middle of a battle. Voldemort sank to the ground to avoid a bright lit curse, which Wraith caught in her hand and threw back at the caster. She grinned when she saw that it was Ron Weasley. The rebounded curse missed him by almost nothing and he lifted his wand to cast another. But the sight of the Wraith smiling at him made him stop. He scowled and threw a curse at another Death Eater. This curse hit its mark and the masked man fell to the ground.

Ron looked back to the Wraith, who raised a brow and gave him a nod of respect. He took the chance she offered and disappeared into the mob.

Wraith offered a hand to her Lord, her eyes searching the battle for certain faces. Voldemort took her hand and stood. “ _Find him_ ,” Voldemort hissed.

Wraith turned her head and she smiled slowly. “I shall bring him to you presently, my Lord,” she told him.

She slipped away from him, ignoring both sides of the battle as she wove her way through it. She did, however, pay attention to _where_ they were. She saw the shadowed ruin of a house at the edge of the trees, made note of the gravel and dirt that served as the battleground, and saw the cliff not twenty feet away from the fight.

Her eyes of the cliff, she failed to sense the figure behind her until the shot rang out. Wraith hissed as a bullet grazed her arm and she spun to see Fred Weasley. She smiled, despite the fact that he was aiming a gun at her, and held her hands up. “Hello, Fred,” she greeted.

“Where is my father?” he demanded, no trace of the playful air Wraith had become accustomed to.

“He’s alive,” Wraith told him, “if that helps."

Fred took a few steps closer, “And my brother? Bill?”

“He’s fine,” Wraith replied lightly, “Well, besides being locked up in a dungeon.” She tilted her head to the side, her smile faltering just slightly. “You going to shoot me, Fred?”

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?” Fred asked her, something in his voice telling her that he meant the question truthfully. He wanted an answer.

“…No,” Wraith whispered.

Fred closed his eyes and pulled the trigger—only to have the gun turn to dust in his hand before it fire. Fred blinked at his empty hand and looked to the Wraith—but she was already gone. He muttered a curse, part of him very relieved. He did not like guns.

Wraith slipped like a shadow along the tree line, her eyes and power searching the battle for one singular face. She had already seen Ron Weasley, it was only a matter of time before she’d find his friend.

“Wraith!” She stopped, turning suddenly to see Minerva McGonagall a yard behind her. Something in the way the woman had shouted her name made Wraith curious. She darted into the shadows beneath the trees, trusting that McGonagall would follow her.

A short distance from the battle, Wraith paused, glancing back. McGonagall remained a ways away, her movements betraying her hesitation to be any closer. “Evening,” Wraith said simply, “I got the impression that you wished to speak.”

“I do,” McGonagall said. She glanced back towards the battle and then crossed the distance between her and Wraith. “I had an interesting conversation with Rosaline Fallon.”

“Oh?” Wraith replied, raising a brow.

“She introduced me to an old family friend.”

Wraith blinked slowly. “…You know the truth of me,” she whispered.

“I know what they told me,” McGonagall retorted, “Whether I believe them or not, well…”

Wraith laughed, grinning ear to ear. “Give me but a little more time, Minerva, and I will prove them truthful,” she promised, “I only need play this part for a little longer.”

“Why play the part at all?” McGonagall asked her, “If you are _truly_ against him, then why do you remain by his side?”

“And in his bed?” Wraith asked in return.

“Yes,” McGonagall agreed, looking very disquieted, “that too.”

“The Dark Lord has a hold on me, Minerva,” Wraith told her plainly, “a hold upon my power, my very life. I must break that hold before I show him my true colors.”

“Your very life?”

“He could kill me with a thought,” Wraith said, “and no, I’m not exaggerating.”

“I see,” McGonagall murmured.

“But hear this, Minerva,” Wraith said then, “When I leave Voldemort, I will not leave alone. I’ll be bringing friends,” she added with another cheshire grin, before she turned on her heel and disappeared.

 

 

 

 

Wraith returned to the battlefield, hidden from sight. She moved through the crowd like a ghost until at last, she came to the one person she had been searching for. Potter was locked in battle with Rodolphus Lestrange, holding his own, but faltering. Voldemort had not seen him yet. Wraith moved quickly, grabbing hold of the collar of Potter’s jacket and pulling him with great force away from the duel.

Potter went skidding along the gravel and rocks, putting distance between him and the rest of the battle. He shook himself and started to rise, only stopping when he saw Wraith standing before him.

“Hello, Harry,” she said brightly, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I’ll bet,” Harry muttered. Moving very slowly, he stood, dusting himself off.

“Pity about that dragon,” Wraith told him, “You came _so_ very close.”

Harry blinked at her. “Close to what?”

“Play the fool then,” Wraith said, amused, “but we both know the truth.”

Harry glanced around, trying to get his footing again. They weren’t far from the cliff—could he use that to his advantage? “The only truth I care about right now is the truth about how to kill you,” Harry snapped at her.

“So vicious,” Wraith said lightly, “Why the venom, Chosen One?”

“You _murdered_ Kingsley,” he snarled.

“Did I?” Wraith replied. She tilted her head to one side, smiling slowly, “Well, I suppose if there is one thing I understand, it is that driving need for vengeance. Tell you what, Chosen One, you can take that pistol from your pocket and I’ll give you a fighting chance with it.”

Harry’s eyes widened briefly before he narrowed them. Moving slowly, he pulled the pistol from his jacket, but he did not raise it. “Still playing a game, aren’t you? Do you ever take anything seriously?”

Wraith’s smile went sharp and cold. “You have seen, with your own eyes, rather compelling evidence that there are a few things I take _very_ seriously.”

Memories flashed in front of Harry’s vision. _Hogwarts, Snape lying prone on the ground, Wraith kneeling at his side, guarding him; Azkaban, Gavin’s mad tongue and bloodied face, the tears in her eyes…_

“What if I don’t want to play your game?”

Wraith raised a brow, smirking. “What? Because you have such a plethora of options otherwise?”

Harry was silent for a breath and then he raised the gun, pulling the trigger before he could change his mind. Wraith dodged the bullet, falling to the ground and rolling. Harry had the gun on her as she rose to her feet again, but Wraith moved smoothly as water, slipping right around him before he could fire a second time. He felt her fingertips graze the back of his neck and he spun, but Wraith closed her hand around his wrist, forcing the barrel of the gun up towards the sky. Harry struggled against her hold, but could not break it.

“You amaze me sometimes,” Wraith murmured.

The gentle tone of her voice unnerved Harry. He met her eyes and saw not a trace of animosity. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“You’ll never stop fighting, will you?” she asked him in turn, “Something tells me that not even death would stop you fighting him. Voldemort could not have chosen a more worthy opponent and choose you he did.”

“What do you know about it?”

“A great deal,” Wraith replied, “Don’t forget, _Chosen One_ , he is in both our heads.”

“What do you want from me?”

Wraith opened her mouth to answer, but suddenly she released him, turning around to face the battle. “ _My Lord!_ ” she cried out, slipping down to one knee, “ _No!_ ”

Harry took a step back, bewildered by the shock and disbelief in her voice. He lifted his eyes to the press of the battle and saw Voldemort, battling fiercely with McGonagall, the both of them exchanging curses so swiftly that the night was lit like day around them. As Harry watched, Vincent Talbot moved into position behind the Dark Lord’s line of sight. There was a flash, unnoticed by both Voldemort and McGonagall in the wake of their own curses. The light from Talbot’s wand hit Voldemort in the center of his back and he screamed in sudden pain.

Harry felt a sweeping chill when the scream was echoed by Wraith. She curled in on herself, as if trying to hold the scream inside her. Voldemort threw off the curse and spun to face Talbot, the Killing Curse on his lips. But Talbot had slipped back into the crowd.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Wraith whispered, rising to her feet again, “ _Don’t you dare. Don’t do this again._ ”

Harry reached out, grabbing Wraith by her arm and spinning her around. “What is going on?’ he demanded.

Wraith looked at him with wide, unseeing eyes. But then her eyes flickered to the side and in a sudden motion, she pushed Harry backwards, turning to see Bellatrix approaching. Harry tumbled, landing hard on his back as the cliff’s very edge. He sat up, watching in confusion as Wraith slowly backed away from Bellatrix, her wary eyes darting between the witch and Voldemort, who still locked in battle with McGonagall.

“Stand aside, Bella,” Wraith warned the witch, “Potter is _mine_ to deliver to our Lord, not yours.”

“We’ll see about that,” Bellatrix spat at the girl.

Wraith raised her hand towards Bellatrix, but then she let out a gasping breath and swayed where she stood. “ _No_ ,” she whispered. With one last horrified look in Voldemort’s direction, she shuddered as the first taste of pain flashed through her.

Harry started to rise, not wanting any part of whatever was going on between the Wraith and Bellatrix. But he found himself frozen in place when the scream was ripped from Wraith’s throat. He watched in horror as she fell to her knees, still screaming.

Bellatrix also seemed transfixed by the Wraith’s sudden and encompassing agony, but then the woman smiled and pulled a dagger from her belt, taking a single step towards her. “You’re _mine_ now,” Bellatrix whispered harshly.

But Wraith raised her gaze to the woman and something bright flashed in the air in between them. Bellatrix fell back with a sharp cry, with Wraith’s dagger buried in her shoulder. Wraith scampered backwards, away from the witch, her last defense gone, wasted now. She had no breath left to scream, though pain still ripped through her, as Voldemort stripped her of her power to fuel his own.

Bellatrix pulled the blade from her flesh, her dark eyes glittering with mirth and madness. “You missed,” the woman hissed at the Wraith. She threw the dagger to the ground and raised her wand instead, her eyes flickering towards Harry.

“Two birds,” Bellatrix cooed, “One stone.”

There was a bright flash of light and the ground shook beneath Harry’s feet. Before he could open his mouth to shout, the ground gave way beneath him and Wraith, the entire edge of the cliff falling down in the valley below. Harry fell, his mind blank with terror as the wind rushed around him, deafening him. But just as suddenly as he’d fallen into open air, he came to a sudden stop.

Unbelievingly, he lifted his eyes to see Wraith clinging to the cliff face with one hand, her other hand wrapped around his wrist. Blinking, Harry gripped her hand tight with his and tried to find purchase on the stone as well. His wand was gone, still on its way to the ground below.

“Hold on,” Wraith told him, her voice strained.

Harry felt her hand trembling in his, weakening… He looked up and met her eyes. There was a thin line of blood trickling down from her nose.

Every bone, every muscle, every inch of her screamed in silent pain, Voldemort was still tapping into her power, leaving nothing for her to save her own life with. “…I’m sorry,” she whispered to Harry.

Her hand slipped from the cliff face and once more they fell. They rushed down towards the canopy of treetops and Harry felt the cold numbing truth of his impending death. There was nothing, no way of slowly the fall, no way of avoiding the cold hard ground below. He closed his eyes.

But a mere twenty feet from the ground, he hit a soft cloud of air, gradually bringing an end to the fall. It held him up for a moment and then he found himself gently tumbling to the ground. He rolled down a hill of dirt and ended up with a mouthful of it. He spat, shaking his head to clear it. He jumped in his skin when he heard land with a thump nearby. He looked over to see Wraith tumbling down the hill of dirt, coming to a stop at the bottom. But unlike Harry, she did not stir.

Harry hesitated, unsure of what to do. Something caught his eye a little ways into the trees and he felt his knees go weak with relief when he saw his wand. He dashed over to the cluster of rocks where it had landed and snatched it up, checking for damages. It was banged up, but there were no cracks in the holly that he could see. Comforted now that he was no longer entirely helpless, he slowly edged closer to where the Wraith lay.

Looking down at her, he studied the bloody mess that was her face. The blood from her nosebleed had smeared in the dirt across her face and there was a fresh line of blood at the corner of her mouth. Harry knelt, reaching out to gently touch her face. She felt cold as ice to the touch and he swallowed back his fear. He took a breath to steady himself and touch a hand to her neck, feeling for a pulse. His breath escaped him in a sigh of relief when he felt the unsteady beating of it. It was weak, but it was there.

“… Wraith?” he said softly, “Wraith, can you hear me?”

Her eyelids fluttered and she stirred slightly. “… _Wand_ …?” she whispered hoarsely, “…your wand?”

“I have it,” Harry told him, lifting it so she could see.

“Then…run,” she whispered, “before…before they find you.”

But Harry didn’t move. “You…You saved my life,” he said incredulously, “…Why?”

“You’re…not…finished yet,” Wraith whispered, her eyes opening to bore into his, “You’ve work…left …to do… _Chosen One_ …so…go _do_ it…”

Harry stared down at her, stunned into silence. Then his mouth firmed into a thin line and he nodded.

Wraith felt herself smile slightly as he stood and disappeared into the trees. She felt the distant touch of his magic when he Disapparated. Satisfied, she slipped into unconsciousness. 


	87. Cracks in the Surface

_"The mistakes are all waiting to be made."_

 

 

 

 

It was Harper who found her when the battle was ended. McGonagall and Talbot had both escaped, though many others of the order hadn’t been so lucky and had paid for their absence of luck with their lives. In the aftermath, Harper first stumbled upon his Lady’s dagger, lying in the dirt near the cliff’s edge. He knelt to retrieve it and as he did, he spied Bellatrix not too far off. His eyes narrowed when he saw both the blood on the blade and the wound Bellatrix sported. A surge of panic flowed through him and he darted to the edge of the cliff, staring down into the valley below.

“My Lord!” he shouted when he saw the glimmer of Wraith’s white dress below.

Voldemort appeared beside him and Harper had the sense of mind to keep the blade out of the Dark Lord’s sight. Voldemort snarled a curse and Disapparated. Harper followed his lead and they both appeared at the bottom of the cliff. Harper was at Wraith’s side at once, feeling her neck for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there nonetheless.

“She’s alive,” he breathed, “Oh, thank the gods.”

“Of course she is alive,” the Dark Lord snarled, kneeling at her other side, “I would have felt it had she died.” He touched a hand to her face, turning it towards him. “Wraith,” he murmured, “wake. Wake for me.”

Harper felt an almost electric charge in the air between them then and could only assume that Voldemort was returning power he’d stolen. Wraith took a gasping breath, her eyes fluttering open.

“My Lady?” Harper whispered, ‘Are you alright?”

Wraith’s gaze flickered towards him, confused and wary. “Potter,” she gasped.

Harper looked around, but shook his head, “There’s no sign of him. Did he make you fall?”

“No,” Wraith replied, weakly shaking her head, “Both…both fell.” She closed her eyes, her face pale as death. “Almost…had him…almost…”

Harper touched a gentle hand to her hair, brushing a few strands away from her face. He lifted his eyes to Voldemort, doing his best to keep the accusation from his gaze, “We need to get her out of here, get her home.”

“Yes,” Voldemort said softly, his own gaze sweeping the dark of the area around them as if he expected Potter to still be hiding somewhere there.  With a dark snarl, Voldemort took his Wraith’s frail form up into his arms, he and Harper Disapparating from the dark valley.

 

 

 

 

 

Wraith woke with a start, almost blinded by a sharp pain behind her eyes. She moaned softly, bringing her hands to her face before cautiously opening her eyes. She was back in her tower at the Manor, the curtains were pulled down to hide the sun, and the only source of light was a dying fire. She could feel a presence at her side and was unsurprised when she saw Clara curled up next to her. Wraith reached out a hand and brushed a lock of hair from Clara’s face.

The older girl stirred and stretched a little before she looked at Wraith with a worried smile. “How’re you feeling?”

Wraith started to reply, but her voice came out as a rasp. Annoyed by her own weakness, she closed her eyes and tried again. “Not well,” she managed, “how long was I out?”

Clara looked at the watch on her wrist. “It’s almost seven in the morning. They brought you back five hours ago.”

Wraith was silent for a few minutes, closing her eyes. Then she lifted her head slightly, glancing around the room. “Where is Harper?”

“He’s guarding the tower stair,” Clara replied, her tone surprisingly dark. She gestured to the other side of Wraith and the younger girl turned her head to see her dagger lying on top of the bedside table. “Harper found that near the edge of the cliff, just before he saw you,” Clara explained.

Wraith reached out a shaky hand to touch the blade, brushing away a few flakes of dried blood. “He’s guarding for Bellatrix, isn’t he?” Wraith asked softly.

“It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together,” Clara told her, “What with the bloody dagger and the stab wound that _woman_ was sporting. But what happened to you? Harper said you were a bloody mess when he and You-Know-Who found you. How did Bellatrix get so close?”

“Voldemort.”

Clara shivered, not only at the name itself, but at the malice behind it. “Oh,” she murmured, “He did that…that power thing.”

Wraith let out a breathless laugh. “Yes. It weakened me, made me powerless. Bellatrix couldn’t resist. Can’t really blame her.”

“I can,” Clara snarled.

Wraith gave her a weak smile. “And Voldemort?”

“In his tower. I was instructed to inform him when you wake.”

Wraith scowled at that, but with a deep breath, she sat up slowly, trying to assess just how weak she was. She would need at least a touch of strength for what she planned. The fury and insult she felt gave her something, but it was only the ghost of power, not what she needed. With a frustrated sigh, she lay back down. “I’m not awake yet,” she told Clara, “let him wait.”

“As my Lady commands,” Clara said, lying down beside her. She reached over to realign the blanket over Wraith and then laid her head at Wraith’s shoulder, wrapping her arm over her waist.

Secure in the company of her friend, Wraith drifted into a more restful sleep. 

 

 

 

 

 

Wraith woke as a gentle surge of power flowed through her. She felt Voldemort’s hand at her cheek, the power coming from him. Wraith kept her eyes closed, her body drinking in the power like dry land taking in water.

“I told you to leave.” Voldemort’s voice was cold and biting.

Wraith opened her eyes, confused, but the Dark Lord was not speaking to her. His eyes were on Harper and Clara, who stood beside each other on the other side of the bed. Clara was pale as a ghost, but her expression was the most mutinous Wraith had ever seen her wear.

“And as I told you,” Harper said sharply, “With all _due_ respect, my Lord— _You_ do not command us. Considering out Lady’s condition—”

“And who put her there,” Clara interjected tersely.

“—We shall await her word,” Harper finished, “on whether or not she wishes to be alone with you.”

Through half-closed eyes, Wraith saw Voldemort tense, his wand arm coming up.

“Oh, please,” she whispered harshly, “Try.”

The three gathered around all turned their eyes to her. Wraith took a breath and forced herself to sit up. The process was painful, but this was too important.

“Raise a hand to _my_ servants,” Wraith murmured, her voice sweet and poisonous, “I _dare_ you.”

“My Lady,” Voldemort said softly, “It is good to see you awake at last.”

“For certain,” Wraith said, her voice weak, but biting, “It is good to be able to wake at all, considering the battle.” She looked to Harper and Clara, smiling gently, “Thank you,” she told them, “for your loyalty. You did exactly right. But,” she added, turning her eyes back to the Dark Lord, “as it happens, I would like to have a private conversation with my Lord.”

Harper heard something in the tone of her voice that made him smirk. He bowed his head to her, “As you wish, my Lady.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Clara murmured.

The two intertwined their arms and calmly walked from the room.

Wraith slowly stood, moving carefully, and closed the door behind them, locking it as she did so.

“You are a vain…egotistical…power-hungry… _ass_.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed as Wraith sharply hissed words. “What did you say?” he asked in a dangerous whisper.

“You heard me perfectly,” Wraith replied, turning to him, eyes burning. “Look at me,” she told him, “Really, _look_. You almost killed me… _again_. You could have gotten _yourself_ killed—or at the very least, incapacitated, surrounded by enemies! What do you suppose would have happened to you then, _my Lord_?” she demanded of him, closing the distance between them, “I _had_ Potter! I had my _bloody_ _hands on him_! But _you_ just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“You _dare_ presume to question _me_?”

“You are damned right I dare!” Wraith found herself shouting, “Do you _want_ our enemies to know how tightly we are bound? I certainly hope so, _because now they do!_ ”

“What are you talking about?”

“When you opened the link between us, someone hit you with the Cruciatus curse. Ask me how I know that.”

“…How?”

“I _felt_ it,” Wraith hissed, “I felt you fall and it felled me. _And they saw_.”

“You felt the curse that hit me?” Voldemort asked slowly.

“Every inch of it,” Wraith replied, “I have not known pain like that outside of you ripping power from me.”

“…I don’t know how much that concerns me,” Voldemort told her, “We already know the connection is deeper on your side. I wonder if your being wounded would affect me at all.”

“…Really?” Wraith whispered incredulously, “This is your response? You are not wounded by my pain? My Lord and love,” she murmured, running a hand down his cheek, “…your empathy astounds me.”

She turned sharply on her heel, stalking to the bedside table and taking up the dagger there. Voldemort felt her throw open the bond between them, but before he could react, Wraith had plunged the dagger into her own hand, pinning it to the table.

He let out a shout when he felt his own hand erupt in pain. He could all but feel the cold of the metal running through his palm. He looked down, expecting to see blood, but there was nothing.

Wraith looked at him with dispassion.

“…Does it concern you now?”

She was shaking, there were tears in her eyes, but she gave no other sign of pain. Voldemort stared at her with wide eyes and Wraith was pleased at what she saw in them.

“There is fear in your eyes,” she murmured, “that is comforting. You understand _my_ fear now, don’t you?”

“Take it out,” the Dark Lord said softly.

Wraith did not move for a moment, her head tilted to one side. She considered him with cold, detached eyes. Then she pulled the dagger free of her hand and set it down. She took in a deep breath as she felt the wound close.

“I…apologize,” Voldemort said carefully, “Your fears are not unwarranted.”

“I trust that you will be more careful with me from now on?”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

Wraith took a handkerchief to the blood on her hand, shaking only slightly now. Voldemort nodded, almost to himself, and started to the door.

“I’m not done.”

He stopped, turning back to meet Wraith’s still furious eyes. “Speak then,” Voldemort snapped, his own temper still burning.

“I have a question for you,” she said, “and I want an honest answer.”

“Ask.”

“If our link is broken, can it be re-forged?”

Voldemort blinked. He was silent for a long moment, trying to work out just what his Wraith had in her mind to ask that odd question. “…Yes,” he said at last, “If broken, I can repair our bond.”

“Perfect,” Wraith said with a cold smile, “Then my demand can be met without you losing me permanently.”

“What demand is that?”

“When the time comes that I bear children for you to continue my bloodline—you _will_ break the link between us. You can bind us together again once the child is born, but while I am pregnant, I cannot trust you not to pull power from me. You would damage me and thus damage the baby I carried. And I will not have that.”

“You are joking,” Voldemort sneered, “Why would I agree to that?”

“If you ever want me to have children, you will,” Wraith said simply, “If you will not…then my bloodline and all the power promised within it dies with me.”

Voldemort’s eyes widened and then swiftly narrowed to slits. “You would not dare.”

“Do you really wish to test me, my Lord?” Wraith asked him, raising a brow and gesturing with the dagger still in her hand, “Do you truly doubt my conviction?”

“…No,” Voldemort admitted, his voice bitter.

“Then swear it,” Wraith told him firmly, “Swear by your power, all that you have and could have, that when I conceive you will break this bond between us.”

Voldemort sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “I swear it,” he whispered, “by the power I have and could have; I shall break our bond when you conceive.” When he opened his eyes, Wraith was smiling sadly.

“Thank you,” she told him, her voice shaking, “My Lord, thank you.”

“You do not ask for small things, my Wraith.”

“You did not create me for small things,” she reminded him, “You made me to be a force of nature you could harness. The price could not be small.”

Voldemort crossed to her, running a hand down her hair. She leaned into his touch, weak and trembling. “Rest now,” the Dark Lord commanded softly, “I shall call on you when you have recovered.”

“I’m leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow,” she said, “I shall recover better there.”

“As you wish,” he said. With a gentle touch, he kissed her forehead and then guided her to her bed. “But for now, sleep.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she murmured. She crawled back into her bed and closed her eyes as he drew the blankets over her. She listened as he moved to the door and left the room.

It only took a few moments for Harper and Clara to return once he was gone.

“Wraith?” Clara called softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I’m still awake,” Wraith replied, opening her eyes. She smiled at them, her expression as savage as could be. “My freedom is secured, my friends. I have extracted the promise from the Dark Lord that will grant it. It will not be long now.” 

 

 

 

 

The next day, Snape met Wraith and Clara on the front steps of Hogwarts. His face was drawn and pale as he watched Clara helping Wraith down from Hakuul’s back. “My Lady,” he said, coming down and offering his arm to her.

“Severus,” Wraith said, smiling, leaning on him as he helped her up the steps.

“Are you alright?” he asked in an undertone, glancing back at Clara, who followed a step behind them.

“I will be,” she assured him, “This is not the worst he’s done to me.”

“Where is your Harper?”

“I asked him to keep watch back at the Manor.”

“A watch on whom?”

“Everyone,” Wraith replied, “The battle has left many in a black sort of mood. It is in my best interests to keep watch on their intentions. I don’t want the prisoners there abused in someone’s fit of pique.”

The three went up to Wraith’s rooms and Snape settled her into a chair near the fire.

“Clara,” Wraith said, “Will you go down and ask the house-elves to bring up some tea?”

Clara nodded and left, knowing full well that Wraith wished to speak privately with Snape.

“Sit down, Severus,” Wraith insisted, “and stop looking at me as if I were about to shatter like glass. I’m quite well, considering.”

“You are certainly in a better mood than I expected,” Snape admitted, “considering that the Dark Lord broke his promise to you not to take power from you on the battlefield.”

“All’s well that ends well,” Wraith said with a twisted smile, “For from that broken promise, I have extracted another from him. And _this_ one, he will not break. He stands to lose too much if he does.”

“And what promise is that?”

“That when I become pregnant, he will break the bond between us, so the child cannot be harmed by it,” Wraith told him, the delight in her voice palpable.

Snape stared at her. “The Dark Lord has promised to _willingly_ release his hold on your power? For the sake of child that does not yet exist?”

“He has the power to reestablish the link if it is broken,” Wraith explained, “Not that he will have the chance, but he believes he would lose nothing.”

“…You’re planning to become pregnant to gain your freedom?”

“I’m planning to _fake_ a pregnancy,” Wraith clarified, “He confessed to me long ago that if I were to become pregnant with his child that he did not think he would be able to end it. He’s uncomfortable with the idea of an heir, but he couldn’t bring himself to harm one of Slytherin’s blood.”

“…Is _this_ why you took him to your bed?”

“Part of the reason,” Wraith admitted, nodding, “As I’ve said before, sharing his bed gives me a measure of control over him. This is just one element of that.”

“And once the link is broken,” Snape said slowly, “what is your plan then?”

“I leave,” Wraith replied simply, “I take the prisoners with me and go to the Order. I tell them everything and give Potter the locket as a sign of good faith.”

“And do you intend to join the battle against the Dark Lord?”

“I don’t know,” Wraith said, “If I am needed, perhaps. What I want is my freedom, yours as well. That will only be ours when he is dead.”

“Wraith…” Snape found he could say nothing to that.

“Freedom means nothing to me if you don’t have it too,” Wraith told him, “The secrets, the lies we have to tell just to survive. They have to come to an end, for both of us. We should be allowed to live our lives as _we_ wish. Don’t you want that?”

“I…I have never dared considered a future beyond this war, child,” Snape said, “This _is_ my life and has been for most of my years. The lies and secrets are all but a part of me now.”

“I love you.”

Snape’s heart stilled a beat in his chest. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

Wraith smiled and let out a weak laugh. “You know that, don’t you?” she asked him, “You have saved my life over and over again, simply being the only friend I had in the world for so long. You are my best friend, my _family_. I protect what is mine. I _will_ see you survive this war.”

“There are many who would not,” Snape was finally able to say.

“Oh, damn them,” Wraith muttered, “and damn you too if you think I can’t manage it.”

Snape laughed once, rubbing a hand over stinging eyes, “No, I believe you,” he promised her, “God knows what I’d do with my life after this was all over, though.”

“The same thought has crossed my mind a thousand times,” Wraith said. She sighed deeply, “My freedom is so close, Severus, I can almost taste it. It almost frightens me to think of it. I have been a prisoner my entire life.”

“You will have to move carefully,” Snape said, “Your ploy will not work well if this promise is still fresh in the Dark Lord’s mind.”

“I know,” Wraith said, “I’ll give it at least a month—maybe two, just to be sure. Contrive a night of passion that will lend credibility to my accidentally becoming pregnant and try to ‘hide’ it from him at first. Let him come to the conclusion himself that I am with child. But it all leads up to the same thing—freedom. At long last.” 

 

 

 

 

 

Wraith spent the next few days in the calm of Hogwarts, her strength returning with each hour. Clara kept close company, making sure that Wraith ate and slept all that she needed. Harper would arrive at least once a day to report on the goings on at the Manor and to trade quips with Clara. Snape kept his distance during the day, but would always join Wraith for an evening game of chess.

Every once in a while, Clara or Snape would catch Wraith staring out at the forest beyond the castle, as if she were waiting for some sign of Edwin. But neither she nor Clara had heard anything from Edwin since that last panicked letter when Wraith collapsed in the dungeons.

“We could write a letter,” Clara suggested one night, after Snape had left them, “To Edwin, I mean. Tell him you’re here—that _we’re_ here. Maybe he could see us, just for a night.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Wraith told her firmly, not looking away from the window, “He’s working with the Order right now and if the Dark Lord even suspected me of being in any sort of contact with him, it would end of all our work in an instant.”

Clara was quiet after that for a long time. “Are you… afraid to see him?” she asked, after nearly an hour of silence.

Wraith closed her eyes, sighing. “…Yes,” she whispered.

She stood and crossed to where Clara was sitting in front of the fire.

“We knew at the start that I would have to return to the Dark Lord when he came back to Britain. He knew that Voldemort wanted me in his bed and that to find a way to free myself of him, I would give him that. But _knowing_ something will happen doesn’t change how you feel about when it happens. I…don’t think that I can face Edwin until this is over between Voldemort and I. I’m frightened that he won’t be able to look at me like he did before, knowing what I’ve done, where I’ve been.”

She stood suddenly, turning her face away. “And I’m afraid, Clare, that if I see Edwin again…I won’t be able to keep this charade up. How could I see him again and not want to run away then and there? How could I continue to share Voldemort’s bed? Right now…Edwin is a memory—a memory that drives me, yes, but a memory. I can keep him that way; keep myself distant from even thought of him. It is that distance that lets me do all that I do now.”

“He loves you,” Clara said softly, “I know he does. It isn’t in him to condemn someone. He never judged me, even when the rest of the world did. Wraith, he _loves_ you.”

“Love is not enough,” Wraith whispered, “not always.” She closed her eyes again, not letting the tears there fall. “I have to finish this. I can’t face him until I’ve finished this.”  

 

 

 

 

 

When Harper arrived the next night to report of the goings on at the Manor, it was Clara who persuaded him to remain a little longer than usual. Wraith was healing well, but her mood was black as pitch, her mind only on how she would proceed next with her plan. She’d locked herself away in her bedroom from Clara and Snape both during the day and it was only Harper arriving to report that drew her out again. Once they had her there, Clara and Harper were quite determined to pull her from her temperament.

“Everyone in the dungeon is well as they can be,” Harper told her when she had seated herself at the window, “The house-elves and I make sure that they’re well fed too.”

“They must be ready to run at a moment’s notice,” Wraith reminded him, “If there is any weakness at all, I must know.”

“And you will,” Harper promised, for what felt like the thousandth time.

“How is Vaisey?” Wraith asked him then.

“He’s…fragile,” Harper admitted, “still not quite himself, but he knows where he is and _who_ he is, so I figure that’s a good sign.”

“Have any of the Death Eaters tried to pay them a visit?”

“No,” Harper assured her, “Thankfully, the Manor has not had many guests. The Dark Lord is distracted with something, has been since the battle, and hasn’t called any meetings in your absence. The only company I’ve really had is the prisoners and Wormtail.”

“I suppose he’s distracted with Potter,” Wraith murmured, almost to herself, “Coming so close, only to lose him again must have incensed him.”

“I don’t have the insight that you do with him,” Harper said, “You’ll have to find out yourself once we’re all back at the Manor.”

“We’ll go back soon,” Wraith said, “Why don’t you stay here tonight? If the prisoners aren’t at risk, then there’s no harm in it. We can travel back together tomorrow…” She froze for a moment, her face going blank.

“My Lady?” Harper called, seeing the way she had stiffened.

Blinking, Wraith stood and made towards the door. “The Dark Lord is here,” she explained as she disappeared from the room.

Harper shared a glance with Clara, who shrugged. “What does he want now?” Harper muttered.

Wraith quickened her steps on her way to the entrance hall, sensing Voldemort as he entered the castle. “My Lord,” she called from the top of the staircase, “Is everything alright?”

“As well as could be expected,” the Dark Lord replied, starting up the stairs towards her. “Are you recovered, my Lady?”

“I am better,” Wraith replied cautiously, “Quite well enough to serve you, as always.”

“There is no call, just at this moment,” Voldemort told her, touching a hand to her hair, “I am on an errand, that is all. Return to your rest, if you like.”

“After you’ve teased my curiosity so? I think not,” Wraith replied pertly, “What sort of errand?”

“I placed something of value here at the castle, many years ago. I’ve plans for a new location,” he told her, starting down the hall.

Wraith followed a step behind him. “Do you want my assistance in keeping it hidden?” she asked, “You know my magicks well.”

“I do,” Voldemort said, “and I may add your magicks to my own.”

Wraith followed him up many stairs and down darkened halls and found that she knew where it was they were going. “This is the entrance to the Room of Requirement!” she said when the Dark Lord came to stop in the middle of an empty hall.

Voldemort looked at her very sharply. “And what do you know of this room?”

“Not much at all,” Wraith told him, her curiosity burning, “I think this is one of the only rooms of Hogwarts I’ve been in. I could never figure out the secret of the door. It isn’t something that my power can circumvent.”

“Who told you its name?”

“Severus,” Wraith said, “He knew of its existence, but not how to get it.” She looked up at Voldemort with wide eyes. “May I come in with you?” she asked him, “I promise not to touch anything.”

The Dark Lord considered her, amused a bit at how her curiosity made her seem so childlike. “Very well,” he said, “But stand back now. I need to first open the door for us to enter.”

Wraith hurried back a few steps away from him. She watched as he paced before an open stretch of stone wall three times. The third time he passed, she felt something stir in the magic behind the wall, and a large door appeared where there had been nothing before. Voldemort pulled it open and gestured for Wraith to follow him. She quickly joined him at the door, stepping into the large room beyond.

Wraith’s breath caught at the sight within. The room was incredible in size, the ceiling almost stretching beyond her sight. It was filled with rows upon rows of eclectic items, from large furniture and statuary, to bits of parchment and scattered jewelry. “Oh, my god,” she whispered.

“Impressive, is it not?” Voldemort asked her.

“It’s unbelievable. Where did all of this _come_ from?”

“I have no idea,” the Dark Lord admitted.

Wraith took a single step into the room and then stopped herself. “May I?” she asked, glancing back at him.

“Go right ahead,” he said, “Just be sure not to get lost.”

Wraith flashed him a grin and disappeared into the expansive clutter. Voldemort watched her go and then made his own way through the stacks, his purpose more pointed than hers.

Wraith wandered along the rows, her hands occasionally brushing over the various objects around her. She found a slightly tilted bookshelf among the rest and latched onto it at once. The books were of the darkest magicks and she recognized a handful of titles from the Malfoys’ library, but most were unknown to her. She settled herself on the floor with a heavy tome open in her lap and it was there that the Dark Lord found her.

“I see you’ve found something to capture your attentions.”

“I’ve never seen most of these,” Wraith said, turning a page.

“My own task is complete,” he told her, “Are you coming with me?”

Wraith blinked and closed the book, standing, “Yes, sorry,” she said, hefting the book back into its place on the shelf. “I could spend days here if I was not careful,” she said as she fell into step beside him.

“I’ve no doubt.”

Wraith slipped her arm through his as they walked, smiling up at him. She knew exactly what he had come for. She could feel the sickly pulse of the Horcrux in the pocket of his robes.

“Will you return to the Manor soon?” Voldemort asked her, interrupting her dark train of thought.

“I could return with you now, if you like,” Wraith answered, “If you don’t mind me bidding Severus farewell first.”

“I do not mind in the least,” he told her, “Let us say our farewells and return home, then.”

Wraith smiled softly, laying her cheek against his arm for a moment.

And then she blinked.

She stopped suddenly, turning her head as if she’d heard something.

“Wraith?”

She did not respond to her Lord’s call, instead she let go of his arm and walked towards what looked like an empty dresser with a broken vanity mirror. Voldemort watched her, curiously, seeing her alarmingly blank expression in the broken glass. Wraith reached out towards the dresser and her fingers closed around something small lying on the surface there.

“Wraith,” Voldemort called once more, “what have you found?”

“I don’t know,” Wraith murmured distantly. She turned the small object over in her fingers, as if memorizing it. Turning back to the Dark Lord, she held it up. “It’s some sort of key,” she said, moving back to him, “It’s old. Very old.”

Voldemort looked down at it and Wraith was fascinated by the flash of utter panic in his eyes. “May I see that?” he asked, his voice carefully calm.

Wraith placed the key in his hand without hesitation, as if she were eager to be rid of it. Voldemort noted how she rubbed her palm absently on her dress once it was out of her hand. He held it up to the light. It was a small silver key, deceptively simple—save for the ornate crest that topped it. He gazed at the stylized ‘R’, framed by the serpentine dragon and backed with a single rose.

How— _How_ had this come to be here? And how could his Wraith have known where to find it?

“Is it something useful?” he heard his Wraith ask.

“I’m not sure,” Voldemort replied, “I believe I recognize this crest.”

“Do you know what it opens?”

“I might,” he said, “Wraith, loath as I am to take from you your discovery—may I?”

“Certainly,” Wraith said with a shrug, “I’ve no use for it…I don’t think that I like it…whatever it is.”

“My thanks,” Voldemort told her, slipping the key into the same pocket as the diadem Horcrux. “Come,” he said then, turning, “Let us go.”

Wraith once more fell into step beside him, hiding a twisted smile. She felt the weight of the _real_ key in the hidden pocket of her dress, thankful that the Dark Lord had not realized the switch. The fear in him had been enough to convince her that this was something worth pursuing. And it was nothing compared to what she had felt when she’d seen that crest. She’d recognized it—the same way she had recognized the name ‘Mage’. The two were connected, she had no doubt. 

 

 

 

 

 

“You found this _where_?” Harper asked her. They and Clara were ensconced in Wraith’s tower room at the manor in the wee hours of the night. Wraith could not sleep and it seemed her mood was catching.

“The Room of Requirement,” she told Harper once again, “The Dark Lord had apparently hidden something there long ago and I went with him to retrieve it.”

“I think I remember hearing about that room,” Clara said slowly, “Back in my sixth year. There was this group of kids that were trying to learn Defense Against The Dark Arts on their own. We had such a crap teacher that year. I was so glad that I didn’t have her for my O.W.L.S. year.”

“Yeah, I was a fourth-year when he got Umbridge,” Harper said, “Did you hear about what happened it her?”

“Yep,” Clara said, “Found dead in her office, right in the middle of the Ministry. The Order didn’t know what to make of it. She was no Death Eater, but she was so anti-Muggle that it hardly mattered. She was pretty useful to them. So why did they off her?” She took the key when Harper offered it and studied the crest. “It’s pretty,” she said, “Looks like some sort of family crest, doesn’t it? I bet we’d be able to track down which family.”

“I’ll be looking into that,” Wraith assured her, “I’m making a visit to the Malfoys’ tomorrow afternoon to check their library. They’re a very proud Pureblood family, I’m certain they’ll have something on the genealogies of other families.”

“And it gives you an excuse to visit Rabian again.”

Wraith smiled at Clara. “That too.” She turned to look out the window and realized that dawn was not that far off.

Clara offered the key back to her. “So, the Dark Lord doesn’t know you have it?”

“No,” Wraith said, turning the key over in her hand, “I figured he didn’t need to worry about it.” She frowned suddenly. “Speaking of the Dark Lord,” she murmured, “He’s just left the Manor…and now blocked off our connection.” She thought for a moment, considering her options and weighing her curiosity. “Why don’t you two try and get some sleep? I’m going to follow him, see what he’s up to.”

“But if he’s blocked your bond,” Harper said, “how will you follow?”

“He’s still carrying the false key,” Wraith said with a smirk, “I can trace my own magicks to see where he goes.”

 


	88. Merciful Retribution

_“The scales beneath your skin are showing off today_

_There's evil in your heart and it wants out to play.”_

 

 

 

 

And follow him she did…all the way to Azkaban.

Wraith’s heart all but froze from the terribly familiar chill of cold stone and locked doors. Then she realized that there was only one prisoner left in Azkaban that Voldemort could have come to see…and he looked a little different from the last time the Dark Lord had seen him. Wraith moved quickly, keeping a lock down on her bond with Voldemort as she Apparated directly up to Gavin’s cell, invisible to the eye as well.

Gavin was sprawled out on the floor of his cell, mumbling to himself and laughing under his breath. Wraith’s lips twisted in a grimace, but she forced herself to kneel down and touch a fingertip to his forehead. She reached deep into his mind and erased any memory of Potter and his friends coming to Azkaban. He could remember her coming to ‘visit’, but if he were to mention to the Dark Lord that he had witnessed the Wraith conversing with Harry Potter, all of her work would have been undone. When she was sure there was no trace of Potter in Gavin’s memory, she stepped back from him, her skin crawling. She could hear Voldemort approaching from down the hall and pressed herself into the dark corner of the room.

Voldemort’s serpentine face appeared in the barred window of the door, his eyes scanning the darkness. “Gavin!” He spat out the name like a bitter pill.

Gavin blinked rapidly, his mumbling silenced in an instant. He scrambled to stand, his movements clumsy and slow. “My _Lord_ ,” he murmured, his hands coming up to grip the bars of the window, “My Lord, have you come to kill me?”

Voldemort’s face twisted with disgust. “No,” he said firmly, “I have come to discuss my Wraith.” His eyes narrowed. “What happened to your face?”

“ _Our_ Wraith,” Gavin spat, his words slightly slurred by the angry scars. The wound had healed badly, Wraith was happy to see. Gavin’s lips were still split, the skin around the scars was angry and red. “ _Our_ Wraith,” Gavin said again, and Wraith realized that the mad fury in his voice was not directed at _her_ , but at Voldemort’s claim of her. “Call her what you will, but it took both of us—both of us and Christine—to bring her into his world. Our Wraith, our darling vicious viper. _Our_ child.”

Wraith shivered, despite herself.

“As you like,” Voldemort said coldly, “Wraith did this to you? When?”

“Time is…relative here,” Gavin said, his voice dark, “A week…a month…a year? God knows. Ask _him_.”

Voldemort closed his eyes as if praying for patience. “…Our Wraith has a gift for the impossible,” he said slowly, “But there are things that are so impossible that they should be beyond even _her_ reach and yet…” He held up the false key where Gavin could see it. “ _This_ should not exist,” Voldemort hissed, “and yet Wraith found it.”

Gavin blinked, staring intently at the crest. “Where?”

“Hogwarts,” Voldemort replied, “It is beyond impossible, Gavin. Slytherin _destroyed_ this key a millennia ago. How did she come to find it?”

“You are asking _me_?’ Gavin breathed out a laugh and fell silent. Then he began cackling incessantly, barely stopping to catch his breath.

“Gavin— _Gavin!_ ”

The madman stopped. “…I do not know,” he said slowly, clearly. “ _How_ could _I_ know? It was Slytherin’s spell, your magic that built her, remade her. I just did as _you_ commanded.”

“How much did Christine know about her family’s history?” Voldemort asked, “What did she know of the Rosendrath line?”

Wraith felt her heart shudder and stop at the name. _Rosendrath_ …what was the name to her? Did it belong to the mages of the past that Voldemort had told her of? What did it mean to her?

“I do not know,” Gavin said again, “and it’s a bit too late to ask her.”

“You are useless,” Voldemort snapped, “I should kill you, just be rid of you.”

“But our Wraith wants me alive,” Gavin murmured, “Alive and suffering.” He touched a hand to his face, fingers tracing the scars. “She marked me, bled me, and I begged her for death. And she denied me that small mercy. Our ‘Merciful Death’—not always so merciful, is she?”

“Never when it comes to you.”

“Are you fucking her?”

“ _Crucio!_ ”

Gavin was suddenly on the floor, screaming mindlessly as the intense pain racked his bones. Wraith closed her eyes, wishing she could close her mind as well. Voldemort relented after a few minutes, but Gavin lay gasping on the ground far longer.

Then he laughed. “—I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

“You are disgusting,” Voldemort muttered.

“I’m not the one fucking a little girl,” Gavin hissed.

“Not for lack of trying,” Voldemort replied, smirking, “And I can assure you, Dominic, our Wraith is most certainly a woman now.”

“I know,” Gavin said slowly, “I know. I saw her. When she cut open my face. She looked beautiful, all in white. Like I imagined her for our wedding. All white and blood red, like death in the snow.” Gavin picked himself up from the floor, returning to the window. “Do give her my love when you see her.”

“I believe that Wraith has had quite enough from you,” Voldemort said, turning away.

Wraith waited until his footsteps had faded away and then Disapparated, leaving Gavin to mutter nonsense to himself once more.

 

 

 

           

 

Wraith Apparated directly to her tower room of the Manor and threw off her cloak. Harper and Clara were both dozing on the couch, Clara resting her head on Harper’s shoulder.

“Wraith?” Harper said when she appeared. He shook Clara’s shoulder gently, waking her, and they both say up. “Are you alright? Where did he go?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Wraith said slowly, “He went to see Gavin. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Okay,” Harper said. He touched a hand to Clara’s as he stood. “I’m going to get some tea. Why don’t you get ready for bed while I’m gone?”

“It’s almost dawn.”

“And you have not slept,” Harper reminded her.

Wraith softened enough to smile. “Alright.”

Harper leaned over and kissed her cheek, then he was gone. Clara helped Wraith out of her dress and into a nightgown before dimming the fire to almost nothing. She was drawing the curtains closed when Harper reappeared with a tea tray. He poured tea for the three of them as Clara crawled into the bed beside Wraith.

“It’ll be okay,” he told Wraith when he handed her the cup.

“You are such a bloody optimist,” Wraith said quietly.

“Someone has to be,” he replied with a grin, passing the other cup to Clara, “Scoot,” he told her, jerking his head. Wraith shook her head, but moved over so that he could sit on the bed next to her. Harper put his arm around her shoulders and touched his head to hers. “We’re here, Wraith,” he said softly, “You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to face the demons like Gavin alone.”

Wraith sipped at her tea, saying nothing. But she rested her head on Harper’s shoulder and took Clara’s hand in hers all the same.

 

 

 

 

Wraith slipped into Voldemort’s tower later that morning. She knew going in that he would be angry with her about Gavin, but she wanted to get it over with. Better to clear the air between them than to have it fester.

The Dark Lord was sitting behind his great desk, a heavy tome lying open before him. He didn’t look up when she entered, nor gave any sign that he had noticed her presence at all.

Undaunted, Wraith moved forward, coming around to the side of the desk and resting her hip against it. “Good morning, my Lord,” she said, smiling down at him, “I must admit, I am disappointed. I thought you would call for me last night. You _did_ want me to come home, did you not?”

Voldemort said nothing, did nothing but turn a page in the book in front of him.

Wraith tilted her head to one side, chewing thoughtfully on her lip. “Oh dear,” she murmured, sitting in the chair in front of the desk. She leaned back and crossed her feet on the edge of the desk with a smirk. “My Lord is _cross_ with me,” she said brightly, “What _have_ I done now?”

Wraith saw his lips twist into a snarl, but still he said nothing.

“Speak, my Lord,” she said, “For how can I make amends for a mistake when I do not know what it is?”

“Go away, Wraith.”

“No,” she replied simply.

Voldemort took a deep breath and closed the book. He lifted his eyes to hers and she was delighted by the ire she saw in them. “I gave you an order,” he told her.

“And I’m ignoring it,” she said, her smirk becoming a cheshire grin, “Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll reconsider.”

“…I paid Gavin a visit last night,” Voldemort said slowly, “And discovered that I was not the only one since his imprisonment to do so.”

“ _Ah_ ,” Wraith breathed, still smiling, “How fares my Watcher?”

“Well enough,” Voldemort replied mildly, “for a madman.”

“Have his wounds healed?” Wraith asked.

“Badly.”

“Good.”

“Why did you go there?”

“Why did you?” Wraith asked in turn, raising a brow. Voldemort did not reply. Wraith let out a dry and humorless laugh, “I wanted to see that his punishment was…effective,” she told him, the slightest snarl to her lips, “I was pleased by what I saw.”

“Then why wound him?”

“He’s Gavin,” Wraith said, dryly, “He opened his mouth and I did not care for what came out. I corrected him.”

“In his mad ramblings, he spoke of how you looked,” Voldemort said, “That you were all in white.”

“I was,” Wraith said, “It was last month, when you sent me to dispatch Kingsley. He took far less of my time than I anticipated. So, I took a touch of that time to visit my Watcher.”

“The blood on your dress…?”

“Was Gavin’s,” Wraith conceded, “Kingsley was…bloodless.” She tilted her head. “Honestly, I did not think you’d care.”

“It is not your place your place to keep things from me,” Voldemort snarled.

At that, Wraith’s smile went dark. “My Lord,” she said, her voice silk, “I am a woman.”

“A woman, yes, and _mine_.”

“And Gavin is _mine_ ,” Wraith said, standing. She placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward, her smile vanished, “His life, his sanity, the very fiber of his being is _mine_ to do with as I please. I could tear the eyes from his skull, the tongue from his mouth, every _inch_ of flesh from his bones and still leave him _breathing_ —and no one could stop me—not even _you._ ”

Voldemort was silent then, staring up at the near madness in his Wraith’s eyes, wondering.

“For all he did to me,” Wraith said, straightening, “and his abandonment of me after, he is mine. I might have died when he left me there alone, if I was not what I am.” She smiled again. “And _had_ I died, if he had lost you me, you might have done the same to him, and it would have been so _very_ justified.”

“… _Would_ you do it?” Voldemort asked her after a moment’s pause, “Skin him alive and keep him breathing?”

“I considered it,” Wraith replied lightly, “Why? Would you like to watch me do it?”

“…I forget…sometimes…that with all your mercy that there is such darkness in you. A darkness to match mine,” Voldemort said as he too stood.

“Is it so surprising?” Wraith asked, watching him as he came around the desk to her, “It was _you_ who created me, gave breath and life to me…how is it that you could think we’d share nothing?”

Voldemort touched a hand to her cheek and she leaned into his touch with a sigh.

“Are you going to make up for leaving me alone last night?” she asked, smirking up at him.

“I think that’s in order,” Voldemort replied. He put firm hands on her hips and lifted her up onto the edge of the desk, bringing his mouth down to hers. Wraith moaned as his hands tore at her dress, exposing skin.

_There is so much we share, my Lord_ , she thought darkly as his mouth traced her neck, _darkness, yes, and a lust for the blood of those who wound us. And if it comes down to it…it will be_ your _flesh that I rip from bone._  

 

 

 

 

Wraith lay back in the bathtub, sighing as the heat from the water soothed what was left of the bruises Voldemort had given her.

“Is he always so…rough?” Clara asked, kneeling at the edge of the tub.

“Not always,” Wraith told her, smiling slightly, “It’s only fair. I left claw marks down his back. And his marks don’t disappear like mine do.”

“So vicious,” Clara said with a smile of her own.

_“Our Wraith…our darling vicious viper…our child…”_

Wraith closed her eyes a moment, her smile gone.

“You alright?” Clara asked.

“Yes,” Wraith said softly, “I’m fine.”

It was no wonder that Clara did not believe her. But the older girl said nothing to contradict her, instead reaching out silently to wipe away the single tear that coursed down Wraith’s cheek.

Wraith leaned into her touch, and tried another smile. “Thank you, Clare,” she murmured.

Clara smiled back and leaned forward to touch her lips to Wraith’s. “Are you still planning to go to the Malfoys’ today?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” Wraith said, “I’ve more than just the business of studying old family crests. I think this business of Bellatrix has waited long enough.”

“What are you going to do?” Clara asked softly.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Wraith said slowly, “But whatever my course, Bellatrix has forfeited her life to me in trying to take mine once again. Voldemort promised me years ago that if she ever tried to kill me again, I could do the same. Even he could not punish me if that is what I choose to do.”

“But you don’t think that’s your only option?”

“Not in the slightest,” Wraith said, “We shall see how Bella has taken the fact that I survived first.”

 

 

 

 

When Wraith arrived at Malfoy Manor, it was with a touch of quiet formality. Lucius had seen her arrive from the parlor window and went out to meet her as she dismounted Hakuul. He paled slightly when he realized that beneath her dark cloak, she wore white.

Wraith met his eyes as she climbed the front steps and she smiled as gently as her mood would allow. “Lucius,” she said, “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, my Lady,” Lucius Malfoy replied with a sweeping bow, “Welcome.” He turned as she passed him to enter the house. “M-my Lady,” he said, quickening his steps to catch up with her, “May I ask the reason for your visit?”

“No need to worry, Lucius,” she said, glancing back, “It’s not an ‘official’ visit.”

“Ah,” Lucius breathed, “My apologies, my Lady. It was just…your dress.”

“It was not intended for you,” Wraith assured him, “Tell me, are your in-laws here?”

Something that could have been either fear or dark satisfaction passed through Lucius’s eyes. “They are, as a matter of fact—”

“My Lady Wraith!”

Lucius and Wraith came to an abrupt stop as Rodolphus Lestrange came running down the staircase towards them.

“Rodolphus,” Wraith greeted him calmly, despite the man’s obvious panic.

To her surprise, Rodolphus fell to his knees before her, reaching out to clutch at her hand. “My Lady, I beg you—my brother—”

“Take a breath,” Wraith commanded, “I assume that Rabastan is not taking his punishment well?”

“That scar—the pain is driving him mad. Please, my Lady, he has learned his lesson, I swear it!”

Wraith was silent for a long moment, purposely tormenting the man before her with it. “Oh, very well,” she said with a sigh, “Take me to your brother. I shall lift the punishment.”

Rodolphus scrambled to his feet and quickly led both Wraith and his brother-in-law to a dimly lit room on the second floor. From the doorway, Wraith could hear Rabastan’s low moans of agony. She felt a momentary pang of guilt, but it faded quickly, replaced by a grim gratification. She stepped into the room, gesturing for the others to remain behind, and sat on the edge of the bed where Rabastan lay. She reached out and touched the man’s cheek, turning him to face her.

“Rabastan,” she called softly. The man’s eyes were bloodshot and a little vague, but they latched onto hers like a lifeline. “Poor dove,” Wraith murmured, petting his hair, “you have been suffering, haven’t you?”

“M-my L-lady,” Rabastan all but whimpered, “I—I’m s-sorry… _please_ …”

“Yes, yes,” Wraith said, running her hand down his marred cheek, “Your punishment is over now. I do hope you’ve learned something from it.”

Rabastan blinked up at her. It took a few moments for him to realize that the pain was gone. His hand flew to his cheek. He felt that she had left the thin line of the original scar there, but the pain was completely gone.

Wraith smiled at the shock and relief on his face and she stood up. “I am not so harsh as our Lord that I require perfect obedience, Rabastan, but I will not be disrespected that way again. You understand?”

“I do,” Rabastan said firmly.

“Good,” Wraith said pleasantly, “Rest now, for I’m sure the Dark Lord will have use of you soon.”

“Yes, my Lady,” he said, “ _Thank you_ , my Lady.”

Wraith resisted the urge to roll her eyes and turned on her heel, rejoining Lucius and Rodolphus at the doorway.

“My Lady, thank you,” Rodolphus said at once as they stepped out into the hall.

“You are welcome, Rodolphus,” Wraith said, turning to him, “but you may thank me by answering one question: _Where is your wife_?”

All of the color from the man’s face drained away and he seemed to realize for the first time that the Wraith was wearing white. He glanced at Lucius and hated the way the man was trying to hide his smile.

“My Lady…” he started—but stopped when her eyes narrowed at him, “…our bedroom,” he said instead, “upstairs.”

“Gratitude, Rodolphus. Remain here. And do not yet fret—you may yet still have a wife by the end of the day. It all depends on her.”

Rodolphus did not care for the odds of that, but he bowed low and remained silent as the Wraith turned away from him.

 

 

 

 

Bellatrix paced before the fireplace in the room she and her husband shared. She had grown tired of Rodolphus’s constant fretting over his ridiculous little brother and his endless moaning. She had her own worries after all. Didn’t her husband realize that his wife’s very _life_ was at risk now? She had failed—she had _failed_ once again to bring an end to the Wraith. And now…

But Bellatrix could not understand why she had not already been called to task on her actions. She had heard nothing from the Dark Lord, seen no sign of anger from him in the few moments she had been near him since the battle’s end. And even stranger still, she had not seen even a glimpse of the Wraith herself. Perhaps the wretch was still recovering from the fall? Maybe, just maybe, if the Wraith did not wake a while yet, Bellatrix could speak with Dark Lord, convince him that she had just been trying to put an end to Potter. That she had not meant to catch Wraith up in the attempt. The Dark Lord trusted her, Bellatrix knew, he could believe her…if only she got the chance to speak with him before his Wraith…

The door opened and closed softly behind her.

Bellatrix froze, her blood turning to ice in her veins. Very slowly, she turned towards the door, eyes wide.

Wraith smiled, leaning back against the door. “Hello, Bella dear.”

Bellatrix looked as if she had swallowed her own tongue.

“Nothing to say to me, Bella?” Wraith asked, raising a brow, “Not even a greeting? I would think you’d owed me at least that.”

Bellatrix’s heart was hammering like mad inside her chest. Her motion was jerky and uncertain, but she slowly bowed her head to Wraith, bending slightly at the knees. “…My Lady.”

Wraith’s other brow rose to join the other. “ _Well_ ,” she said, stepping forward, “Thank you, Bella. I know what that must have cost you.” She stood before Bellatrix, who kept her head bowed. “You must be wondering,” she murmured, “why it is you’re still breathing.”

“Yes,” Bellatrix said in a harsh whisper.

“I have not told our Lord what you tried to do to me. Not yet.”

“Why?” Bellatrix asked, her eyes flickering up to Wraith’s before dropping again.

“I’ve haven’t made up my mind as to what I am going to do with you,” Wraith told her, “It was cleverly done, Bella dear. Had you succeeded—had I died—I doubt that our Lord would have had any notion as to your hand in it. I _commend_ you for your cleverness.” She reached out, placing a gentle hand under Bellatrix’s chin and lifting her face slightly, “But something _must_ be done with you, nonetheless.”

“What do you want?”

“I’m thinking,” Wraith said obliquely.

Bellatrix stared up into those broken blue eyes and saw nothing beyond the frozen color of them.

“Poor Bella,” Wraith whispered coldly, “He’ll never be yours, the way he is mine. Even if you had managed to kill me three years ago. It would change nothing between you.”

“If you are going to kill me, then be done with it,” Bellatrix hissed at her.

Wraith smiled slowly. “Oh, Bella, what a small mind you have. I _own_ you now. Why on earth would I waste that?”

Bellatrix’s hammered heart stopped for a breath and she went grey. Wraith’s smile widened, her teeth flashing.

“The _first_ thing that you are going to do, Bella dear, is leave this house. You and the Lestrange brothers are going to find new quarters and leave your sister’s family in peace. The _second_ thing you are going to do…is leave Rabian behind.”

“ _Bitch_ ,” Bellatrix shrieked, stepping back from Wraith, her lips twisted in a snarl, “I will do _no_ such thing! How _dare_ you order me!?”

“You would rather the Dark Lord’s wrath?”

Bellatrix fell silent, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Bellatrix,” Wraith said, “Narcissa has been raising your son since he was born. You’ve little patience for children, even your own.”

“What do you want with my son?” Bellatrix demanded.

“I want him raised well,” Wraith replied bitingly, “That boy has marvelous potential. I would not have a mother like _you_ spoil it. Leave him to Narcissa. You can take a greater role in his education when he is older—but let Narcissa have the child.”

“…I do this…and you let me live? You won’t tell the Dark Lord what I did?”

“Do this, and you live. The Dark Lord need not know.”

“…There will be further payment later, won’t there?” Bellatrix said quietly.

“Clever dear,” Wraith said, “Of course there will be. But this is a good start. Pack your things. You are to be gone within the hour.”   

 

 

 

 

Narcissa found Wraith a half hour later, perusing the shelves in the library.

“My Lady?”

“Hello, Narcissa,” Wraith said brightly, poking her head around the corner of a shelf, “May I assume your darling sister has delivered the news?”

“She…she told me that she and her husband were leaving the manor,” Narcissa said, “Rabastan too. But…my Lady, she’s leaving Rabian in my care.”

“Yes,” Wraith said, “per my instruction.”

“Why would she do this?” Narcissa asked slowly.

“Because your sister is a dead woman walking,” Wraith replied, “and if she disobeys me, she stops walking.”

“What has she _done_?” Narcissa asked in a horrified whisper.

“She tried to kill me again,” Wraith said lightly, “During the battle. And according to the deal the Dark Lord put to us years ago, her attempt on my life means that I have his permission and blessing to retaliate.”

“But you’re not…you’re not going to kill her?”

“I think not,” Wraith said, understanding that even with all of the bad blood between them, Bellatrix was still Narcissa’s sister. “She’s no use to anyone dead and with this threat over her head, I think she’ll behave herself from now on. And it takes Rabian out of her hands and places him in yours. I trust your hands better than hers.”

Narcissa was quiet and Wraith let her think in silence, turning back to her search of the books.

“Thank you, my Lady,” Narcissa said at last.

“You love your nephew like a son,” Wraith said, “He deserves a better mother than your sister.”

“May I help you find something here, my Lady?” Narcissa asked when she realized that Wraith was on the hunt among the shelves.

“I’m hoping you have something on old family lineages, particularly those that go back to the time of the Founders.”

Narcissa frowned thoughtfully and moved to another shelf, scanning the titles there. “Here, my Lady,’ she said, pulling down a very old book, “I think this one has some information on the old families.”

Wraith took the book from her, brushing dust away from the cover. She opened it and carefully flipped through the pages. Her hand froze when she saw the now familiar dragon and rose gracing the top corner of a tattered page. “Rosendrath,” she whispered, reading the page, “ _Draco Vadum Victum_.”

“My Lady?” Narcissa said, frowning, “What does that mean?”

“The Dragon Shall Overcome. Family motto.” Wraith closed the book sharply and offered it back to Narcissa. “Thank you,” she said.

“You found what you were looking for?”

“I just needed to confirm something,” Wraith explained, “You gave me exactly what I needed.”

 

 

 

 

 

\When Wraith returned to the Manor, she was surprised to find Clara waiting for her in the entrance hall. “Clare, is everything alright?” she immediately asked.

“I think so,” Clara replied, glancing somewhere down the hall. She stepped close to Wraith and spoke in an undertone, “The Dark Lord was asking for you a little while ago. I told him that you’d gone to see the Malfoys. He didn’t seem surprised at all, just asked me to intercept you whenever you returned.”

“What does he want?” Wraith asked.

“That you meet him in the ballroom,” Clara said, “His words were ‘at your convenience’.”

“Huh,” Wraith blinked and then she smiled, “Well then. I suppose it is ‘convenient’ enough now.” She looked to Clara, who smiled a little at the venom she saw in the younger girl’s own smile. “Where’s Antony?”

“Down with Vaisey,” Clara explained, “You think it’s safe for me to head back up to our tower? Or do you think the Dark Lord will want to take your conversation up that way?”

“Go ahead. If our conversation, as you put it, heads anywhere, it’ll likely be _his_ tower, not mine.”

“Thank you, my Lady,’ Clara said smartly, dipping into a quick little bow.

Wraith winked and then started down the hall to the ballroom. She hesitated a moment before the doors, glancing down at the white gown she still wore. But then her eyes narrowed and she lifted her head proudly, pulling the doors open. Let him ask her about her attire.

As before, Wraith immediately saw changes in the grand room. The walls glittered with serpentine designs in green against shimmering silver, the floor was a deep jet black that seemed to swallow the light cast by the sun through the windows. The Dark Lord stood once more upon the dais at the far end of the room. He turned at the sound of the doors and smiled to see her enter the room.

“My Lady,” he said, gesturing for her to join him. She did so, quickening her step to reach him and she took the hand he offered as she stepped up onto the dais with him.

“My Lord,” she said with a knife-edge smile, “This is quite impressive,” she told him, gesturing to the room at large, “A fitting place for an heir of Slytherin’s, I think.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Voldemort said, “I was rather disappointed when I went looking for you, only to find you gone.”

“My apologies, my Lord,” Wraith replied, stepping closer to him, “I had business with the Malfoys.”

“And how did you leave Bellatrix?”

Wraith tilted her head slowly to one side. “…Alive,” she said after a moment’s pause, “for now. How did you know?”

“I will admit that I did not make the connection immediately after the battle, but I did take note of Madam Lestrange’s wound,” Voldemort told her.

“But you said nothing,” Wraith murmured, “To me or to her. Why?”

“I considered it your business, more than mine,” Voldemort said, “I made you a promise, did I not? Surely you know by now that I keep my word.”

At that, Wraith raised a quizzical brow. “When it suits you,” she said dryly.

“So,” Voldemort said, ignoring the barb, “You decided not to kill her?”

“I did,” Wraith said with a nod, “I thought it more…prudent to keep her alive. She’s of far more use to me that way, not to mention to you. Besides, she _is_ exceedingly loyal—just not to _me_.”

“But she did try to kill you, pet,” Voldemort said, “I’m surprised that your temper did not get the best of you. You were quite ready to take her head the first time she attempted it.”

“I suppose what it boils down to is that I do not blame her for the attempt,” Wraith said slowly, “I blame _you_.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and his grip on her hand tightened painfully for a breath’s time. “Me?”

“Really, how could she have resisted such a golden opportunity? And you gave it to her.”

“Are you still angry with me, pet?”

“Yes,” Wraith replied simply. She took a step back, pulling her hand free of his, and moved to stand beside the ornate throne.

Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, and then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he sat down in the throne, looking up over his shoulder at his Wraith. “Do you approve of the throne as well as you do the room, my Lady?” he asked.

Wraith considered it, glancing out over the ballroom again, and then she slipped down onto his lap in a single smooth motion. “I suppose it’ll do,” she told him with a sharp smile. 

 

 

 

 

Several days later, Wraith was spending a quiet afternoon in her tower. She was stretched out on the couch, a slim book held in one hand above her. Clara was on the floor near her head, sketching a new dress design in her notebook. Harper had disappeared downstairs some time before, to visit with Vaisey.

With a heavy and put-upon sigh, Clara set her notebook aside and laid her head back to stare at the ceiling. “It’s too quiet,” she muttered, “I don’t trust it.”

“Hush,” Wraith said with a laugh, “You’ll jinx us.” She marked her place in the book and set it beside Clara’s notebook on the low table next to the couch. She turned to lay on her side, reaching over to tug on a lock of Clara’s chestnut hair. “I take it that you’re bored,” she said, “What would you like to do?”

“He’s busy at the moment,” Clara muttered.

Wraith laughed delightedly. But then she tensed, looking sharply at the door.

“What?” Clara said, reacting to her, “What is—?”

The door burst open and Harper stumbled through it, looking pale and drawn. Wraith leapt to her feet. “Antony?” she whispered.

“The Carrows…” he gasped out, “The Carrows brought Voldemort a prisoner. They captured him in London. Brought him…because their killing curse wouldn’t work…on him. They’re downstairs.”

“Oh, gods. Edwin.”


	89. The Threat of Love

 

 

 

_“After all, what is happiness? Love, they tell me. But love doesn't bring happiness. On the contrary, it's a constant state of anxiety, a battlefield; it's sleepless nights, asking ourselves all the time if we're doing the right thing. Real love is composed of ecstasy and agony.”_

 

 

 

 

Wraith immediately went for the door, pushing past Harper and starting down the stairs. It was only when the three of them had reached the bottom of the tower that she stopped and looked back to them. “No,” she said, “Clara, you wait for me here. The Dark Lord can’t know your connection to Edwin, under _any_ circumstances. Harper, did the Carrows take Edwin down to the dungeons?”

“No,” Harper said, “They’re gathered in the drawing room.”

“Then I want you to go back down to the dungeons,” Wraith told him, “I need to get Voldemort alone, I’ll send Edwin down there to you. You make sure that he’s okay and do your best to keep him that way.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Harper said at once.

He ran down the hall, but Wraith remained a moment with Clara, who looked quite ready to argue. “Clara,” she said softly, “Please.”

Clara’s eyes filled with tears and she gritted her teeth, but all the same she gave Wraith a sharp nod and started back up the stairs of the tower. Wraith closed her eyes and took a breath to steady herself before she made her way down to the drawing room as calmly as she could manage.

Before she had even reached the doorway she heard the Carrows arguing with one another, and though she did not hear him speak, she could feel the Dark Lord’s presence. —And Edwin’s. Wraith stepped into the room, glancing quickly towards the fireplace. There, his wrists bound behind his back, kneeling on before the mantle was Edwin. His lip was bloodied and there was a bruise forming on his right cheek, but he was alive. The Dark Lord stood before him, his eyes narrowed as he considered the boy, trying to puzzle out why neither his curse nor the Carrows’ had had any effect.

He felt Wraith behind him as she had felt him and he turned. “My Lady,” he said, “What brings you down from your tower?”

“My Lord, I must speak with you,” she told him, her eyes resisting the urge to flicker towards Edwin, “alone.”

“I am a little busy at the moment, pet.”

“I’m afraid that it cannot wait,” Wraith insisted. She gave the Carrows’ a withering glance. “Take the prisoner to the dungeons and keep your eyes on him.”

When the brother and sister hesitated, looking to Voldemort for confirmation, Wraith’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Alecto grabbed her brother’s arm and dragged him over to where Edwin was, grateful and relieved when Voldemort stood aside. They each took one of Edwin’s arms and raised him up, his feet dragging on the ground.

Voldemort turned away, his gaze upon the windows. It was that small, crucial moment that Wraith dared meet Edwin’s eyes as the Carrows dragged him from the room. There was a huge measure of trust in his eyes when they locked onto hers and Wraith’s heart trembled to see love there as well. She gave him the smallest of nods as he and the Carrows disappeared through the doors. It was all she could give to reassure him and it wasn’t enough. It broke her heart.

“Well,” Voldemort said, turning back to her, “we are alone. What is it you needed to speak to me about?”

“You cannot kill him.”

“I’m already aware,” Voldemort replied dryly, “The Killing Curse seems to simply bounce off of him.”

“I mean,” Wraith said, stepping forward, “that I cannot allow you to kill him. My Lord.”

“And why is that?”

Wraith laughed, rather sadly, unable to help herself. “You already know why. You knew the moment that I entered the room. Perhaps before, when you realized that your curse had no effect on him.”

“Your young lover from Hogsmeade,” Voldemort said softly.

“Yes.”

Voldemort’s movements were slow, deliberate, betraying only the barest hint of his fury as he closed the distance between them. “As I recall, _my Lady_ , you assured me that your lover was no pawn of the Order’s or mine.”

“Nor was he,” Wraith said evenly as the Dark Lord began to circle her, “at the time we became lovers. He was living in Hogsmeade, staying under the radar. We found each other. I was angry with you. I made a choice.”

“And _what_ a choice you made, my pet,” Voldemort said, “You knew, when you made this choice, the damage that boy has done to my efforts. I had him marked for death. So, my dear and loyal lady, not only did you once allow him to escape death, you chose to take him to your bed.” He stopped his circling, his hand going around her throat, “ _Why_?” he demanded, “What hold does this boy have over you?”

“I don’t know,” Wraith managed to rasp, her throat constricted underneath his tight hold.

“You’ve said that before, pet. I’m not certain that I still believe it.”

“It’s the truth,” Wraith told him, “I don’t know what it is. Neither does he. But we’re connected.”

“ _Connected_?” Voldemort repeated incredulously, “What is this nonsense you’re prattling? That boy is my enemy! And thus he is your enemy, as you have said that my foes are yours. How _dare_ you!”

He released his hold of her throat, throwing her back against the wall. Wraith coughed, drawing in deep, unsteady breaths. She brought a shaking hand up to her neck, feeling the bruised and tender skin gingerly. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to Voldemort’s.

“…If you had taken me with you, when I asked, when I _begged_ you not to leave me behind…none of this would have happened. So, scream at me, my Lord and love. Rant and throw things, if you’d like. But also know that it is your own bloody fault.”

“Sometimes I have to wonder if you are worth all of the trouble I have faced since bringing you out of Azkaban,” Voldemort said softly, “I wonder if I shouldn’t have left you there.”

“You could have,” Wraith agreed, “but you didn’t.”

“I could simply put you back.”

“No, my Lord,” Wraith said, her voice stone, “you could not.”

“Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do to you, _pet_ ,” the Dark Lord hissed, “All I would have to do is drain you to the point of death and keep you there. You know, perfectly well, the limits of your powers. I could leave you nothing with which to escape those stone walls.”

“You could do that,” Wraith told him, “You could drag me down to the edge of death and put me back in that prison—and all I would have to do to escape is drag myself that final inch past my mortality.”

Voldemort blinked at her.

“I’ll die before I spend another night in a cage,” Wraith told him, “Think on that, my Lord.” She took a step towards him, steel in her spine, “And you have failed to deter me from my path. Release Edwin Rowle, my Lord, and let us return to the path we share.”

“I see no reason to entertain your request,” Voldemort said, “It is my current and fondest wish to see that boy dead, for a multitude of reasons now. Why would I agree to spare his life?”

“If Edwin dies, I will follow.”

“I don’t believe you,” Voldemort spat.

“Do you wish to test me?” Wraith replied, “There would be no going back from that choice, my Lord. Would you risk the loss of all of my power, the loss of my singular bloodline, out of spite towards one boy?”

“…Do you _love_ him?” Voldemort asked her.

Wraith closed her eyes and sighed. “…How would I know?” she remarked, her tone almost sad, “What is love to creatures such as us, my Lord? Our world is based upon power and fear alike. Would we even recognize love if we saw it, even within ourselves? All I know is that it would hurt me if he died.”

“Do you think I would spare him to save you pain?”

“No, I know better, my Lord,” Wraith said, “Of course you would not.”

There was silence between them now, their eyes locked. Wraith knew there was no moving her, but would he be moved by her threat?

“I told you before, my Lord, that I was not sorry for having taken a lover in your absence,” Wraith said, “That has not changed. If I am sorry for anything, it is for the trouble now. I do not ask for small things, you know that. I would not waste your time with trifles. My Lord,” she said, gently touching her hand to his arm, “though I do not know why, I am bound to him, as I am bound to you. _I chose you_. When you returned to Britain, I did not hesitate. I left Edwin Rowle without even a passing farewell. I have not seen him since then. Today is the first time I have laid eyes on him since your return. I am yours.”

“Are you?” Voldemort asked, though he did not move away from her, “I think you are your own more than mine.”

“I am more my own than I was before,” Wraith said, “That much is true. But I am yours, even in that.” She moved her hand to his cheek, her eyes now imploring him, “I will bend to your every will. I will be your most loyal subject. I will be _everything_ you created me to be.  All it will cost you is one life.”

Voldemort brought his hand up to hers, wrapping long fingers around hers and bringing it down. “Very well,” he said slowly, “Return to your tower and await me there. I will see to this boy’s release.”

“You won’t kill him?” Wraith asked, her heart racing with that small hope, “You swear to me?”

“I swear,” Voldemort told her, “You have my word.”

Wraith knew she could trust his word, but only to a certain point. She hesitated a moment, but then she brought his hand to her lips, placing a gentle kiss there before releasing him. She turned on her heel and left the room, almost running back up to her tower. Harper was still down in dungeons. She would have to trust in him to make sure that Voldemort kept his promise.       

 

 

 

 

Edwin kept his eyes closed tight as the Carrows dragged him down the long stairs of the dungeon, and past the other cells. No one spoke, but Edwin could hear the breath and feel the presence of the others as they passed. Finally, they reached an empty cell and the brother and sister threw him bodily into it.

“Don’t know what makes you so clever,” Amycus spat at him, “I’ve killed you twice now and yer still breathing. But the Dark Lord’ll do fer you. Just wait.”

Edwin ignored the man’s prattling threats, pushing himself up onto his knees and turning towards the still open door of the cell. His hands were still bound behind his back and he had no wand, but he would face the Dark Lord head on when the time came. He licked his lips, tasting the nearly died blood at the corner of his mouth, and settled himself, waiting for Voldemort and his wrath.

“ _Confundo_.”

Edwin started at the unfamiliar voice and watched as both of the Carrows’ eyes went dull and blank. A young dark-haired man appeared before the cell and he smiled down at Edwin.

“Hello there,” he said brightly, “So, you’re the one, huh?”

“Beg pardon?” Edwin stared up at the stranger uncertainly.

“He who won the fair Lady’s heart,” the stranger said with a grin.

“Who are you?”

“Antony Harper, sir, at your service,” the young man said with a slight bow, “The Lady asked me to keep company with you while she deals with the Dark Lord.”

“And how will your Lord react when he finds you’ve jinxed your fellows?” Edwin asked, jerking his head towards where the Carrows were middling about.

“What care I?” I serve the Lady, not the Lord,” Harper told him. He pulled up his left sleeve to show skin unmarred by the Dark Mark. “You know what a difference that is. I serve the Lady Wraith, along with dear Clara.”

“Clara,” Edwin said, “How is she? Is she here?”

“She’s well,” Harper assured him, “She’s waiting up in our tower. None of us wanted any hint of your friendship to occur to the Dark Lord.” Harper looked up the stairs and listened for some sign of approaching footsteps. He heard nothing. “Perhaps it’d be best to spirit you away now,” he murmured thoughtfully, “while Voldemort is distracted.”

It was Harper’s use of that name that confirmed his loyalty to Edwin. He’d never heard anyone but those of the Order use the name before. No one truly loyal to Voldemort would dare such a thing. “Is she still bound to him?” he asked Harper, “Can he still hurt her?”

Harper turned sad eyes to him, “Yes,” he replied, “I’m afraid that he can.”

“Then thank you,” Edwin said, “but no. If I disappear, she’ll be blamed. She still has a part to play. I won’t jeopardize that.”

“I know it is a risk,” Harper said, “But I worry more for what will happen to her if she is unable to convince Voldemort to spare you. All of this will be for nothing if you are dead, Edwin Rowle.”

“He could kill her,” Edwin said flatly, “He _would_ kill her.”

“It would kill her to lose you,” Harper said, “Your death…it would kill her heart and my Lady has a great one.”

Edwin stared up at him once more. “You mean that, don’t you?” he asked, “‘My Lady’.”

“I do,” Harper replied, kneeling so that he and Edwin were level with one another, “She has the ability to inspire such loyalty…and love.”

“…How is she? Really.”

“Chafing under the chains the Dark Lord has around her,” Harper said, “There are days that I think she’ll have killed him herself in the night. But she has a plan to secure her freedom and she takes a vindictive sort of pride in thwarting him in anything. She’s made allies that will make his life quite difficult once she’s free of him. She misses you. She wears that ring you gave her on a chain where no one can see. She’s read all of the books you gave her at least a dozen times.”

Edwin closed his eyes, his heart heavy. “I miss her too,” he whispered, “You’ll tell her that, if I don’t get a chance to?”

“Of course,” Harper said, with a nod, “She’ll find her way back to you, Rowle. I have no doubt.” He tilted his head to one side, wanting to dispel the obvious despair the man was feeling. “Tell me of Alexis,” he said then, “for Clara’s sake.”

“She’s frightened,” Edwin said, “and tired and worried for Clara. They never ‘officially’ got back together last time they saw each other, but it did confirm for Aly that she really does love Clara, even with all of her faults. It’s not an easy thing sometimes, loving Clara.”

Harper shifted slightly, and Edwin thought he saw a touch of guilt in his eyes.

“Are you sleeping with her?” he asked Harper.

“Infrequently,” Harper replied uneasily, “We’re friends, she and I, and this place…you need a distraction now and again.”

“Do you love her?”

“In a way,” Harper said, and his eyes went distant, “But I know what real love is too and I couldn’t settle for anything else. Fell desperately in love, I did, when I was stationed in Hogsmeade. But Voldemort ordered me back here and my love and I decided that it was safer to part.”

“We all seem to be in the same boat, don’t we?” Edwin said with a dry smile, “You, me, and Aly.”

“And it’s sinking fast,” Harper replied brightly, “Love is funny like that.”

“Yeah.”

Harper was suddenly on his feet then, turning sharply towards the stair. “ _Merde_ ,” he muttered, stepping out of the cell. He looked back to Edwin, “Someone’s coming. Don’t worry. I’ll be close.”

Edwin blinked when Harper touched a hand to the wide metal bracelet he wore and vanished from sight. 

Oddly enough, Edwin felt no fear at the sound of the heavy dungeon door opening and closing, nor when the mist cleared from the Carrows’ eyes. He felt nothing but a strange sort of calm when Lord Voldemort appeared before the cell. Inhuman red eyes stared down at him, blazing with half-buried fury.

“Who are you?” he demanded of Edwin.

“I assumed that you knew who I was,” Edwin replied lightly, “You did call me by my name more than once upstairs.”

“That is not what I meant,” Voldemort said, taking a single step into the cell, “What are you to my Wraith?”

Edwin took a moment to answer, looking up at the Dark Lord. “…I was her friend and lover for a time,” he told Voldemort, “I’m not sure that there is a word for what we are now.”

“You have some strange hold over my Wraith,” Voldemort said, “I want to know what it is.”

“So that you can cut it out of us?” Edwin retorted, “I can’t help you, Dark Lord. I don’t know what our connection is, nor do I know where it lies. And whatever the hold is I have over her, she has the same hold over me.”

“I should kill you,” Voldemort told him, “before you further ruin my Wraith and confuse her loyalty.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Edwin asked him, “Be done with it.”

“You would continue to bait me?” Voldemort said, “Even now?”

“Why not?” Edwin replied, “Whether you kill me or not is entirely in your hands. There is nothing I could say or do to change your mind. So, I might as well enjoy myself by needling you. One ought to take pleasure in the little things, after all.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and he turned away with a hissing breath.

Edwin found himself smiling. “My god, it kills you, doesn’t it?” he said to the Dark Lord, “That I have something with Wraith that you will never— _could never_ —have.”

“And what is that?” Voldemort demanded, his eyes snapping back to Edwin’s.

“You may be her Lord and master, you may even share her bed,” Edwin said, “but you will never be her friend. You could never be that close. It is against your nature. You hate me, quite simply, because I possess something you can’t.”

“She chose me in the end, boy.”

“But she chose me first.”

“Do you love her?” Voldemort asked of him.

“Desperately,” Edwin said with all candor.

“How has she protected you?” Voldemort asked, “Why has the Killing Curse not finished you?”

“You cannot expect me to answer that,” Edwin said with half a laugh.

With a snarl, Voldemort reached down, grabbing Edwin by the collar of his shirt and pulling him up onto his feet. For a moment, the two glared at one another in silence—and then Voldemort lowered his eyes slightly.

“Well, well,” he whispered, “what is this?”

With his other hand, he snatched at the chain around Edwin’s neck and pulled it free. Edwin went cold when he felt the chain snap. Voldemort dropped him back to the ground as he studied the locket in his hand.

“My Wraith’s servants each wear a red-gold band around their wrists,” Voldemort murmured, “The exact same color as this little locket.” He pulled the locket open and his anger flared once more when he saw the lock of raven-black hair within. “A lover’s token?” he said, “How quaint.” He looked down at Edwin, “How foolish.”

Edwin said nothing.

Voldemort closed the locket and slipped it into the pocket of his robes. “You won’t be needing it any longer, I think,” he said, “It shall be of more use to me.”

Edwin waited, certain in that moment that he was about to die. Still, he could not muster an ounce of fear. His death did not matter, just as long as Wraith found her freedom.

“My Wraith has pleaded, quite prettily, for your life,” the Dark Lord told him, “and I am inclined, for her sake, to grant you mercy.”

Edwin blinked, certain that he had not heard Voldemort correctly. Then he felt a sense of foreboding in the air between them.

“However,” Voldemort said, taking his wand from his pocket, “Pride demands that I not allow you to leave unscathed.”

The cell door behind him slammed shut and an invisible wall surrounded the bars.

“ _No_!” Edwin heard Harper’s voice, though he couldn’t see him.

Harper lifted a hand and pounded on the unseen wall, his invisibility slipping as panic overtook him.

“Deal with him,” Voldemort ordered the Carrows, not taking his eyes from Edwin.

Amycus grabbed Harper’s shoulder and spun him around, slamming his fist into the young man’s face before he could react. Harper’s heard snapped back and Alecto snatched his wand from his hand, throwing it across the dungeon floor. Amycus hit him again, this time in his stomach. Harper felt his legs give out as the pain radiated through him. He felt blood flowing from his nose and there were stars before his eyes. He could not bring his thoughts together.

And then Edwin began to scream.

And Harper could not save him.

 

 

 

 

Wraith paced before her fireplace, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Clara was curled up on the couch, her eyes darting between the door and Wraith infrequently. She could all but feel the agitated power sparking in the air around her Lady; power that she desperately longed to use. Every minute seemed to hold an eternity for the both of them.

Finally, Wraith’s head snapped around towards the door and Clara, in response, jumped to her feet to face it as well. The door opened and Voldemort stepped inside. He ignored Clara, looking only to his Wraith.

“The boy is free to go. I would suggest that one of your servants escort him away.”

Wraith closed her eyes a moment in relief, but something inside her was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I’ll send for Harper,” she began to say, but Voldemort held up a hand to stop her.

“Your Harper, I’m afraid, was injured in an attempt to interfere with me. Nothing too serious, but you might do better to send _this_ one.”

He stood to the side of the door, and Amycus Carrow appeared there, supporting Harper. Wraith felt her fury rise at the sight of her friend’s blood splattered face and it must have showed on her face, because Amycus lost all of the color in his face and he quickly helped Harper to the couch.

“Orders, ma’am,” he said swiftly, “Just orders.”

“Get. Out.” Wraith’s voice was little more than a low growl.

Amycus backed away, bowing as he went, until he was out the door. Wraith glanced at Clara, who met her eyes and nodded, sitting next to Harper on the couch to assess his injuries. Wraith turned her eyes back to the Dark Lord, who still looked far too pleased with himself.

“I couldn’t stop him,” Harper whispered thickly, “I couldn’t…”

Wraith crossed to the couch, touching a hand to Harper’s head to quiet him. Her eyes never left Voldemort’s. “What did you do?” she asked him softly.

Voldemort smiled slowly. “I have taken my pound of flesh and am satisfied.”

“What flesh have you taken?” Wraith asked, her voice still low.

She realized suddenly that she could not see one of his hands. It was held behind his back, out of sight. Voldemort moved past her to stand beside the little table near the fireplace, turning quickly enough that she still did not see his hand. Harper’s breathing was ragged and tight, the loudest sound in the room in that moment. Slowly, Voldemort moved his hand out from behind his back.

His hand was bloody—as was the eye that he gently set upon the table’s surface.

Everything seemed to freeze.

Something inside Wraith was screaming in fury, but nothing reached the surface.

She was ice.

Very deliberately, very carefully, Wraith turned to the couch and gestured for Clara to stand. Her legs shaking, her breath trembling, Clara stood, forcing herself to look away from the table and the evidence there.

“Clara, come here.”

The older girl went to Wraith’s side and leaned into her. Wraith wrapped her hand around the back of Clara’s neck and put her lips against her ear. “Go. Take him away from here. Do _not_ return here. I want you with him. I cannot guarantee your safety any longer. Harper and I shall find you later. _Go_.”

Clara shuddered and turned her head to kiss Wraith’s cheek before she swiftly left the room.

Wraith moved around the couch to stand before Harper. She knelt and saw the dark and bitter guilt in his dull eyes. She reached out and grazed his nose with her fingertips, repairing the break. Like she had with Clara, she leaned in and whispered too low for Voldemort to hear. “Return to your room for the moment. Rest. I shall fetch you shortly.”

Harper slowly nodded and they both stood. Harper went for the door, but Wraith crossed to the window, gazing down at the front steps of the Manor.

 

 

 

 

Clara ran down the stairs of the dungeon, stumbling at the very end, but she caught her balance. She saw Alecto waiting at the door of one of the cells, her face twisted in an ugly grin.

“He’s right here waitin’.”

Clara hissed at the woman and pushed her aside, throwing open the cell and stepping inside. Her fury broke and shattered into painful slivers of grief and guilt.

Edwin was curled on the floor of the cell, his hands cupping his face, dripping with dark blood. He shifted when he heard her and lifted his head from his hands. “Clare,” he gasped out.

Clara let out a low moan at the sight of him. There was a dark and empty space where his left eye had been. Her mind would not properly comprehend that dark space. It was just so _wrong_.

She dug her fingernails into her palm, using the edge of pain to snap herself back. Clara reached out, taking Edwin by the arm and gently lifting him to his feet. “We’re leaving,” she told him, putting her arm around his waist. But she stopped when they were out of the cell and turned burning eyes back to Alecto. “His wand,” she said sharply.

Alecto blinked and then she sneered. “I ain’t givin’ you nothin’.”

“His _wand_ , you bloody _cow!_ ” Clara all but screamed at her, “Unless you want to involve my Lady.”

At that, Alecto sputtered. She reached into a pocket of her robes and removed a wand with a shaking hand. Clara snatched the wand away from her and pushed it into Edwin’s hand. She waited for Edwin’s slight nod to confirm that it was indeed his wand before they continued up the steep staircase out of the dungeon. The pair moved slowly across the entrance hall, Edwin was still trembling with pain, but somehow they managed to make it to the doors.

Clara took a breath once they were outside. “We’ve got to get to the edge of the Manor’s protection before we can Disapparate,” she told Edwin.

He groaned, unsure if he could walk much further. But then Clara had a burst of inspiration. She looked out towards the trees and gave a sharp and piercing whistle. A mere moment later, one of the thestrals appeared at the edge of the trees, hurrying towards them.

“Gysa,” Clara breathed, leading Edwin carefully down the front steps to where the thestral waited.

With Clara’s help, Edwin was able to climb onto Gysa’s back. Clara climbed on behind him, wrapping one arm around his waist.

“Where am I taking you?” she asked him.

“ _La Magia_ ,” Edwin whispered hoarsely, “Ms. Roz will help.”

“Okay,” Clara said, nodding. She urged the thestral forward as an easy pace, not wanting to jostle Edwin too much.

Nearing the edge of the protections Wraith herself had placed, Clara paused, looking back to the Manor and she lifted her gaze to the tower. She could almost feel Wraith’s eyes upon her and her heart broke.

“God, I hope she’ll be alright.”

“What do you mean?” Edwin asked, snapping back from the edge of unconsciousness he’d been drifting at.

“She told me to stay with you,” Clara explained, tears streaming freely from her eyes, “That it isn’t safe here anymore. I don’t what she’s going to do, Edwin. I’m afraid.”

 

 

 

 

Wraith watched with burning cold eyes as Clara and Edwin rode the thestral to the Manor’s borders. They paused for a moment and Wraith saw Clara’s gaze turn in her direction. _Go_ , she urged silently, almost praying. Finally, Clara helped Edwin down from Gysa’s back and the two of them vanished, Disapparating away. Wraith let out a breath, closing her eyes.

“Are you satisfied, my pet?” Voldemort asked, still standing behind her.

“I thank you, my Lord, for sparing his life,” Wraith said slowly, “Now, I pray you—leave me.”

Voldemort’s lip curled and he did not move. He lifted a hand as if to touch her hair.

“Don’t.”

He stopped at the sharp edged word.

“Why?” he asked, “Did I not give you what you asked for?”

“You did,” Wraith acknowledged, her eyes still locked onto where Edwin had been a few moments earlier, “But if you touch me, I will _hurt_ you. Much as I would regret it later, if you touch me now, I will hurt you…and I will _enjoy_ it.”

She turned her head slightly and Voldemort could now see her eyes, though they did not look at him—and the fractured blue seemed to burn.

“For both our sakes, my Lord, _leave me_.”

“Very well,” Voldemort said, “But this conversation is not over.”

“No,” Wraith agreed, “It is not.”

Voldemort stared down at her—and realized that the floor beneath them was trembling just slightly, as were the windows. Everything around his Wraith was shaking ever so faintly and she was the epicenter. He realized that with one single wrong word or move, her power threatened to break and shatter all around her—including him. He thought that he had known her temper and its extent. He knew now that he had underestimated it very badly.

Very slowly, he took a step back from her and then another. “My Lady,” he murmured.

“My Lord.”

He had almost reached the door when it slammed shut, stopping him in his tracks. The trembling of the floors ceased.

“One final thing,” he heard Wraith say softly.

Voldemort turned back to her. Even now, she still faced the window.

“In your pocket,” she said, “is something that does not belong to you.”

Voldemort smirked, bringing the locket out. “Did you think I would not discover it?” he asked her, “Your method of protecting him?”

“I had no doubt that you would. You are a clever man. Clever enough to know that is not for you to keep.”

“Oh, but I shall,” Voldemort told her, “You protect your servants. You protect your lover. You never offered such a thing to me. I will keep this, pet. I think I am owed it.”

“That is not your decision,” Wraith said slowly, “It is mine. That locket is not for you.”

Voldemort felt the locket in his hand begin to burn, the metal now glowing. With a hiss of pain, he dropped it. It hit the floor—and then melted into a puddle of red-gold at his feet. The door behind Voldemort swung open.

“That is all, my Lord,” Wraith told him.

“For the moment,” Voldemort hissed.

“As you say, my Lord.”

With a final snarl, Voldemort turned and swept from the room, slamming the door behind him. He had only just reached the bottom of the tower when he heard glass shattering above him. The sound was massive—as if every window in that tower room had just exploded into dust.

_Temper, temper, my pet_ , he thought distantly, glancing back up the twisting stair.

Now more amused than afraid, the Dark Lord made his way back to his own tower, overall pleased with the afternoon’s distractions.

 

 

 

 

Barely fifteen minutes had passed since Harper had heard the explosion of glass from his Lady’s tower when someone knocked softly at his door. He scrambled to open it, unsurprised to see Wraith standing there.

“What now?” he asked her.

“Hogwarts,” Wraith replied. She held up the ancient key. “No more secrets,” she whispered, “No more games. It is time to discover what Voldemort is so very afraid of me finding.”


	90. Jesalis

_“The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and must therefore be treated with great caution.”_

 

 

 

Evening was falling fast around Hogwarts when Wraith and Harper arrived there upon Hakuul’s back. Harper dismounted first, offering a hand to Wraith. She took it as she stepped down, her eyes on the castle doors. She started up the stairs, without even a glance in Harper’s direction.

“I want you to waylay Severus for me,” she told him as they entered the castle, “If this goes wrong, I want the both of you to have some sort of deniability.”

“So, I’m not to know what you’re doing exactly,” Harper said.

“That is correct,” Wraith replied. “Go to Severus. Tell him to wait for me in his office.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Harper said. He paused a moment, studying her face. “My Lady?”

Wraith stopped, blinking as if clearing her head, and she looked to him.

“Be careful,” Harper told her gently.

“I will be,” she said.

They parted ways on the seventh floor, Harper headed for the Headmaster’s office—and Wraith went to the hall that held the Room of Requirement. She stood before the empty expanse of wall, twisting the key in one hand.

Closing her eyes, she pictured when the Dark Lord had brought her here. Slowly, keeping her eyes closed, Wraith walked the floor before the wall, back and forth, three times. Her mind was racing, focused around the key in her hand and she desperate need for answers. The third time she passed the wall, she felt that odd shift in magic she had felt before, and opening her eyes, she saw a door. She clutched the key in her hand hard enough for it to leave an impression in her palm and with her other hand she opened the door.

Blackness met her there, a dark empty room behind the door. It startled her, after seeing that great and cluttered room before, but still she stepped inside, letting the door close behind her. In the dark, she couldn’t even see her own hand before her face, but she still moved forward slowly. She held up her hand, calling power to her, and a globe of pale blue light rested on her upturned palm. She turned, trying to see if there was anything in the room besides herself.

It only took a moment for her to realize that the light in her hand was drifting away in wisps and lines towards the far wall. Her eyes widened and she followed its path. Where the light hit the wall, it began to take form. And when the last of the light left her palm, Wraith saw the Rosendrath crest imprinted there. The crest shone, but Wraith saw that it was no longer the only light in the room.

Just below the crest was the outline of a door that Wraith was certain had not been there before. She touched a hand to the door and looked down for a knob, but the only thing she saw was a keyhole. A spark of excitement went through her and she slipped the ancient key in the lock and turned it. The door moved under her hand, opening onto another room.

There was light in this room, cast by large chandeliers hanging above, and torches set along one wall. The other held portraits, hung in a single line all down the room, which was of considerable length.

Wraith started down the room, her eyes gazing at each portrait she passed. Her shadow fell across each of them in turn, the light from the torches opposite them casting it. As she studied them, she tried to figure out just what was _wrong_ with them. Something about each one set off alarms in her mind. And then she realized.

_They’re not moving. They are complete still. Like statues. Like muggle paintings._

Wraith came to a stop, stepping closer to one of the portraits. Looking up at the woman within, Wraith thought she looked rather sad, tired even. The light behind Wraith seemed to flicker and she stared into the painted woman’s eyes. The clear grey color had a sheen to it that Wraith could not puzzle out. Her eyes—the color was almost like…

_Glass_ , Wraith thought, _her eyes are like mine, only they’re…unbroken._

Wraith moved onto the next portrait, this one of a young man, and saw that his eyes held the same glass-like quality, though the color was a dark blue.

_These people, all of them, they’re like me. Mages._

These must have been the Magi of the past that the Dark Lord had told her of. She was certain. Wraith’s breath caught at the very thought of it.

_They all look so young_ , she thought, _none of them could be older than sixteen or seventeen at the most._

They were all pale and thin, as if each stood at the edge of death. Wraith couldn’t help but wonder how long any of them had lived past the time of having these portraits painted.

And then she reached the second to last painting and found herself transfixed by the young man held by the gilded frame.

He was unlike all before him, for although he was still pale, this boy was smiling. His light green eyes were almost dancing with mirth, his hair was a tawny golden brown, long enough to brush his shoulders, and Wraith felt as if she knew him. More than that, she felt that this boy was someone she had loved—and lost.

_Tobiah_.

The name came to her from the same deep dark place in her mind that had screamed in fury in the hidden dungeon room; the same place that had spurred her to find answers.

Wraith had to force herself to look away from the portrait and her eyes fell upon the last. Though there was space along the wall for more frames, there was only one more portrait beside this young man’s. Wraith moved to stand before it, her heart beating like a caged bird within her chest.

_No_.

The young woman that stared out from the portrait—was _her_.

Wraith was looking into her own face, painted over a thousand years before she was born. Her hair was a dark reddish brown, her cheeks held more color, but her eyes…her eyes were the same crystal blue, though the portrait’s was unmarred by the tiny fissure lines that afflicted Wraith’s.

_How is this possible? This girl…she could be my twin! No…she is_ me _._

Wraith stepped forward, reaching out a hand…

 

 

 

 

She placed it into the waiting hand of her father, stepping down gently from the carriage. Her eyes widened at the sight of the massive castle before them, the new stone shining in the sunlight.

“Arcaine!” came an elated shout and her head snapped around to see the man rushing to greet her father. They were of an age, her father and this bearded man all dressed in green and black. “You made it!” the man said, firmly shaking her father’s hand, “I am so glad to see you, old friend.”

“Salazar,” Arcaine said, “It is good to be here. What an achievement, my friend. This place is amazing.”

“It’s not quite finished,” Salazar said, turning his gaze towards the castle, “We’re still working on the towers and making sure that it’ll stand for the centuries to come. But it is a marvelous start.” Salazar glanced over at the carriage and realized that his friend had not come alone. “You’ve brought your family, wonderful.”

“They insisted,” Arcaine said, smiling fondly at his wife and child, “My daughter especially. You remember my wife, Jessamine.”

“My Lady Rosendrath,” Salazar said, lightly kissing the woman’s cheek, “It is good to see you again. The years have been more than kind to you.”

“You are too gracious, Salazar,” Jessamine murmured, but she smiled at the compliment.

“And allow me to introduce my daughter, Jesalis.”

Salazar turned to her, taking her hand gently in his. “My Lady,” he said, placing a kiss on the back of her hand.

“Sir,” Jesalis said, still breathless from the sight of the grand castle. But she met the eyes of the man her father called friend and attempted a polite smile. He seemed to linger longer than needed over her hand, his eyes boring into hers. Jesalis felt the slightest chill. But before she could react to it, Salazar straightened and turned to her father once more.

“She has…intriguing eyes, your daughter.”

“That is a very polite way of asking what it really is you want to know,” Arcaine said dryly, but there was good humor in his face. “Yes, Salazar, our daughter is a Mage.”

Jesalis felt her cheeks redden slightly and she quickly turned away, looking towards the castle again.

“It’s been several generations since one was born to the direct line, hasn’t it?” Salazar asked, “Not since your, what was it, great-grandfather’s time? She looks well.”

“We were lucky,” Jessamine said, “There is a boy, a distant descendant of the family, who was also born a Mage. He found us a few years ago. He has exemplary control of his powers, such as we’ve never heard of in a Mage, and he’s been teaching Jesalis the same control.”

“Oh, yes,” Arcaine said, with an edge of bitterness, “A bastard boy born from my great great-granduncle’s bastard bloodline. And he is housed with all honor beneath my roof. Very _lucky_ , indeed.”

“Father,” Jesalis said, her tone admonishing.

“Our daughter is fond of him,” Arcaine said, “I suppose it is something of a comfort to have something with the same affliction to keep company with.”

“He’s almost twenty,” Jessamine interjected, “And is healthy in every appearance. It is almost unheard of in a Mage. When he came to us, I lost much of the fear I had that my only daughter would not live to adulthood. She’ll be fifteen in a few months.”

“May I go see the lake?” Jesalis asked suddenly. She was tired of people talking about her as if she were not there.

“Don’t wander too far, my dear,” Jessamine warned, placing a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder and a kiss on her cheek.

“I won’t,” she promised. She curtsied to Salazar. “Sir.”

“My Lady,” Salazar said, bowing his head.

Jesalis felt herself pause. There was a light of appreciation in Salazar’s eyes that she could not, for the life of her, decide if she liked. He was an intense sort of man, this friend of her father’s. Jesalis lowered her eyes and darted away towards the lake, knowing full well that they would continue to talk of her once she was gone.

She walked along the edge of the glittering water. She wished, not for the first time, that she was not a Mage. Oh, people could marvel and wonder at the power that those like her might possess, but there was such a cost.

Her mother treated her as though she were made of glass and her father—well, her father simply didn’t know what to do with her. It couldn’t be easy, Jesalis thought forgivingly, to love a child that was so unlikely to outlive you.

Jesalis didn’t feel at all close to death. She felt…normal. It would have been nice to be treated like she was just that.  

 

 

 

 

That evening, Jesalis and her parents were treated as honored guests within the castle walls. The castle had a hollowed-out sort of feel, there were only a few rooms that were furnished. Two of those rooms were given to the Rosendraths. Once they were settled, Salazar brought them down to what would be the Great Hall, where they were introduced to his three friends.

Jesalis was enchanted by the woman called Rowena Ravenclaw and spent much of the evening talking with her and Helga Hufflepuff. Both women were fascinated by Jesalis’s odd sort of power, but did not press her with the thousands of question she had come to expect from strangers.

Arcaine and Jessamine embroiled themselves in a sort of debate with Salazar and his closest friend, Godric Gryffindor. Jesalis paid little attention to it, they were speaking of bloodlines or some such nonsense.

“When do you think the school will open?” she asked Helga.

“Oh, we’re hoping to bring children here as early as next fall,” the woman replied.

“The sooner the better,” Rowena remarked, “Times are dangerous and getting more so as the days progress. Those Muggle fools would see the world burn to assuage their inane fears.”

“Now, Rowena, you’re starting to sound like Salazar,” Helga admonished.

Rowena smiled sharply, which Jesalis thought only emphasized the woman’s great beauty. “Salazar has a habit of thinking he knows better than the rest of us simply because he’s the eldest,” she said, “Thank the gods we have Godric to slap him upside the head when he gets too full of himself.”

Her words were as sharp as her smile, but Jesalis heard the distinct fondness in her voice all the same. It was as though she was speaking of an elder, but annoying, elder brother. These four were great friends, it was clear, and Jesalis found herself envious of such friendship.

By the end of the evening, the Rosendraths were invited for an extended stay, encouraged to have a few of their household come to join them there. This was the best news Jesalis had heard all day—for it meant that Tobiah would come. They had spent weeks traveling to the castle, and she had missed him every day of it.

 

 

 

 

Two weeks later, Jesalis found herself down at the lake again, her eyes on the road. She did not have to wait long before she saw the cloud of dust that signaled the arrival of many horses.

Up at the castle, her father and Salazar were also waiting, but Jesalis had not their patience. As soon as the retinue came close enough for her to spy out their faces, she lifted her skirts and took off running towards them.

“Toby!” she cried when she saw his face.

The young man grinned at the sight of her and broke his horse away from the rest to gallop towards her rather than the castle. He dismounted quickly and went running to catch her up in his arms, spinning her around.

“Missed me, did you, little bird?” he asked her when he’d set her down again.

“A little, I suppose,” she replied with a grin, “Oh, Toby, _look_ at this place! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Tobiah turned his eyes towards the castle and he nodded solemnly, “It truly is,” he said, “and it is very much needed. We saw a great deal on our journey here, little bird. The world is becoming a dark place for those with magic—even for those _suspected_ of magic. If this place becomes all that it is promised to be, it will be a light in that darkness.”

“Surely, it won’t always be this way?” Jesalis asked him, her excitement at seeing him again dampened.

“No,” Tobiah said, looking down at her, “The world turns, little bird, things will get better.”

Jesalis smiled, taking his hand, “Come,” she said, “Let me introduce you to the founders.”

Tobiah squeezed her hand in his and allowed himself to be pulled along with her up to the castle.

When they reached the front steps, Jesalis was unsurprised to see that her father wore an expression akin to one who had tasted something sour, but Salazar was smiling in a friendly kind of way. So, she ignored her father completely and drew Tobiah closer to his friend instead.

“Tobiah, this is Lord Slytherin,” she said, “He’s the one who invited us here to see the castle. Lord Slytherin, this is my friend and tutor, Tobiah Jarith.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Master Jarith,” Salazar said, extending his hand.

“And it is an honor to meet you, Lord Slytherin,” Tobiah said sincerely, “I thank you, for allowing us all to witness what you and your companions have accomplished here already.”

“Jesalis has spoken much about you,” Salazar told him with a smiling glance at the girl, “I feel as though we are friends already. Come, I’ll take you to meet the others.”

Salazar released Tobiah’s hand, and gestured for them to follow him into the castle. Jesalis was surprised when Tobiah shook out the hand that Salazar had grasped, as if it pained him. There was an odd look in her friend’s eyes as he stared at Salazar’s back. Jesalis could not read it.

“Toby?” she said softly, taking his hand in hers, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Tobiah told her, smiling again, “Come on, I want to meet the others.”

Jesalis frowned at him, not believing his smile, but she let it go, determined to get answers from him later when they were alone.  

 

 

 

 

Late that night, after most of the castle had retreated to their beds, Jesalis snuck into the room that had been given to Tobiah. He was already in bed, one arm flung over his eyes. He always slept in a sprawl and it was one of the things that endeared him to her. She jumped onto the bed, making him jump.

“Good gods, Jesalis! Don’t _do_ that!” he spoke in a hushed, but earnest tone. He rubbed at his tired eyes and glared at her. “What are you doing here? Your mother will have a cat if you’re found in my room after dark!”

“Tell me what happened between you and Salazar this afternoon,” she said, ignoring his worry.

“Oh, _Salazar_ , is it? How informal of you,” Tobiah said teasingly.

“Tell me!”

Tobiah opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, little bird,” he said, “It was just a feeling, is all.”

“What sort of feeling?”

“I…I simply got the impression that he didn’t like me much.”

“Why would he not like you?” Jesalis asked, “He’d never even met you before!”

“I don’t know!” Tobiah replied, lifting his shoulders in a shrug, “What songs have you been singing about me, little bird?”

“I have said nothing but the kindest things,” she assured him.

“Been lying through your teeth then, have you?”

Jesalis hit him on the shoulder, making him wince and laugh.

“I don’t know what it is about Salazar,” she said, frowning as she recalled their first meeting weeks before, “He struck me as very…well, passionate would be the kindest word, I think. I don’t think he’s the sort of man that would do anything by halves.”

“Do you like him?”

“I don’t know,” Jesalis said, “He stares at me. I feel whenever we’re in a room together, he’s just…watching me. I don’t know, for the life of me, _why_.”

“Ah,” Tobiah said, “I’d bet you it’s a simpler thing than we’ve figured.”

“What?”

Tobiah laughed again, shaking his head. “Oh, never mind, little bird.”

“No, don’t do that,” Jesalis said, hitting him again, “Tell me.”

“You are so young yet, little bird,” Tobiah told her.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’ve only five years on me, Jarith,” she reminded him.

“Go back to bed, little bird.”

“What if I don’t want to?” she retorted.

“Then you could at least shut your mouth and let me get some sleep,” Tobiah said, falling back onto the bed, “I’ve been on the road for weeks and I’m exhausted.”

Jesalis rolled her eyes and plopped down beside him. “Salazar aside, I think you made quite an impression on the others,” she said.

“That’s good,” Tobiah said, not opening his eyes.

“Are you really going to do a demonstration tomorrow?”

Tobiah blinked, sighing. “Godric was very polite in the asking,” he said to her.

“And it gives you a chance to show off,” Jesalis said with a smile.

Tobiah returned the smile, and he reached over to brush a lock of hair from her face. “You should go to bed, Jesalis, before you’re discovered.”

“Fine,” she said, giving up. She sat up and leaned over to kiss his forehead, “Sleep well.”

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning dawned bright and clear, and a crowd gathered around the edge of the lake to witness something very few had ever seen. Tobiah stood at the water’s edge, his eyes closed. Jesalis was near, standing with Salazar at her side, her own eyes wide with anticipation as to what Tobiah had in store.

Tobiah, his eyes still closed, stepped into the water, lifting his arms above his head. Water far into the lake followed his motions, lifting from the lake into the air in spirals. With Tobiah’s instruction, they flew in arcs, twisting around each other like moths ‘round a flame, before diving back into the lake.

The crowd let out a cheer and Jesalis saw Tobiah smile just slightly. The water around his feet froze, the ice spreading out several feet, arching out of the water in different designs. Jesalis saw the lion of Gryffindor, the badger of Hufflepuff, the eagle of Ravenclaw and Salazar’s snake. In a breath, they seemed to come to life, turning to face the crowd.

The lion’s mane seemed to move in the slight wind and it opened its mouth in a silent roar. Godric moved closer, holding out a hand, and the ice lion approached him, touching his nose to the man’s palm. The golden-haired man let out a laugh and looked to the rest of the crowd. “By the gods, I can almost feel it breathing!”

Helga and Rowena hurried to join him, and their totems came to the lake’s edge as well. Helga knelt so that the badger could reach her hand, and Rowena held up her arm, where the eagle landed delicately.

Jesalis glanced at Salazar, whose eyes were wide and almost envious. “Go on,” she told him.

He smiled and joined his fellows. The snake slithered across the lake to him, twisting itself around the man’s shoulders. “They’re not even cold,” he said to the benefit of the crowd, “It’s incredible.”

The animals made their way back to the deeper water and Tobiah gestured for Jesalis to join him. She did so, taking his hand. “Your turn, little bird,” he whispered.

Jesalis gave him a grin and lifted a hand. The animals blurred together into a simplified version of the castle out there on the water, the ice glittering in the morning sun. She heard the crowd ooh and awe at the sight. Jesalis waved her hand and the castle of ice disappeared into a thousand blue butterflies, dancing into the air above them.

The butterflies scattered, drifting over the crowd before dissolving into snowflakes to fall gently upon them. The crowd applauded and several cheered the show, including Godric and Salazar. Tobiah squeezed Jesalis’s hand and together they took a bow.

Walking back up to the castle, Jesalis found herself at Salazar’s side. The man offered her his arm with a smile, and she took it.

“That was quite a performance,” he told her, “The power you two possess is incredible. Miraculous, even. And all without a wand.”

“But it does come with a cost,” Jesalis replied, “It is true that Magi have the power to do amazing things—but that power is what keeps us alive. The magic is infused within us, it is what makes our hearts beat. It is our life-force, Salazar, and if we use too much too quickly, we weaken and die. That is what happened to every Mage before us and Tobiah and I will not follow that path.”

Salazar touched her hand, his fingers gentle. “Every part of you holds this magic?”

“Yes,” Jesalis said, glad that he seemed to understand how serious she was, “It runs under and through our skin like our blood.”

“Well, that would explain why you are immune to normal magic,” Salazar said, “Using magic on you would be akin to…flicking drops of water at an ocean.”

“Precisely,” Jesalis said, grinning.

“Has your Tobiah looked into a way…around your limitations?” Salazar asked her.

“I’d imagine so,” Jesalis said, glancing back to where Tobiah was walking with Godric, “He’s always trying new things, as carefully as he can anyway.”

“But he does not share these experiments with you?”

She laughed, shaking her head at the notion. “For now, Salazar, it is enough for me to be alive and healthy. That is far more than many of the Magi of the past could say at my age. Before Toby found us, I was a very sickly child. I was so weak that I barely went outside. My mother fretted over me every day and my father couldn’t even look at me. I used my magic all the time without thinking, just playing. I’d spend hours making my dolls dance and my instruments play music by themselves, not ever realizing that I was just making myself weaker. Then Tobiah came and taught me just what our power was, and I grew stronger. He was teaching me how to ride within the year, because I was finally strong enough to do it. Power to me is nothing compared to the feeling of being alive.”

Salazar stopped, making Jesalis pause as well. She looked at him, only to find him staring down at her with some unreadable expression. He touched a hand to her chin, tilting her head up slightly.

“You’ve an incredible passion in you, Jesalis Rosendrath,” he told her, his voice low and deep, “especially for one so young. I pray that you never lose that.”

Jesalis found that she could not look away from him, somehow incredibly touched by his admiration.

“Jesalis,” Jessamine called from the castle steps, “Hurry up, child!”

She blinked rapidly, turning towards her mother’s call. “Coming, Mother!” she called back.

Salazar smiled at her and together they continued the walk up to the castle.

 

 

 

 

Before long, the Rosendraths bid farewell to the castle and to their old friends and new. Standing on the front steps, Salazar stole another few private moments with Jesalis.

“Say that you’ll write to me,” he said, taking her hand, “I get so few letters.”

“I will,” she told him.

“Promise?”

Jesalis laughed, “Yes, I promise.” She found herself oddly charmed by him the more time she’d spent with him, and she chided herself at her initial chilled reaction to him.

“Safe travels, my lady,” he said, kissing her hand, “I hope it is not too long before we see each other again.”

“It was wonderful to meet you,” she said, “and it’s good to have a face to the stories my father tells.”

“I shudder to think of the kinds of stories your father can tell about me,” Salazar said with a laugh.

“Jesalis,” Tobiah said, already mounted on his horse, “are you ready?”

“Yes,” she told him. She gave Salazar one last smile and curtsy before hurrying to Tobiah’s side. He leaned down, offering her a hand, and she mounted the horse behind him. She lifted a hand to wave goodbye to the others and to the castle that held the name ‘Hogwarts’.

 

 

 

 

Despite Salazar’s hopes, it would be more than two years before they saw one another again. And Jesalis would have ashamed if she were forced to admit that her letters were infrequent at best. But there was always seemed to be something more pressing than a simple letter.

With Tobiah’s tutelage, she grew in her power and, more importantly, in her control of it. She could use her magic almost casually now, as he did. She discovered the hidden depths of her power—and hidden things within herself as well.

Shortly after her seventeenth birthday, she and Tobiah took their horses and rode out across her family’s land, as they had so often done before to escape her father’s disapproving glances and her mother’s still constant worrying.

“I don’t think I know what to do with myself sometimes,” Jesalis confessed to Tobiah, “I see women like my mother, women younger than me, with families, a husband and children, and others like Rowena and Helga, who’ve accomplished so much with their time. But I don’t know what to do with my own life.”

“Are you wishing for a husband then?” Tobiah asked her, laughter in his tone.

“I don’t know,” Jesalis replied, a little too quickly. Tobiah gave her the oddest look, but she ignored it. “I’m wishing for something to happen,” she confessed, “I want to _live_ my life, Toby, not watch it go by without me.” She brought her mare up beside his horse, trying to find something in his eyes she could read. “What about you?” she asked him, “There can’t be much more that you could teach me. Surely, there are other great things you could be doing?”

“Why would I ever leave you?” Tobiah asked in turn.

“But what do you want for your _own_ life?”

“Little bird,” he began, but Jesalis cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand.

“I wish you would not keep calling me that,” she told him irritably, “I am not a child anymore, Jarith!”

“I know that,” Tobiah said, rather sharply. Jesalis blinked at him, caught off guard by his tone. “I know,” he said, more softly, “But you will always be my little bird.”

They rode in silence, entering the forest that marked the border of the Rosendrath land. Under the cover of the trees, Jesalis reined her horse to a stop on the path. It took Tobiah a moment to realize that she was no longer beside him and he turned his horse around to see her dismounting.

“Jes?” He dismounted as well, leading his horse back to her. “Is something wrong?”

“Tell me what you want from life,” she said to him, “what it is you want most?”

There was a pleading in her question that struck Tobiah in the deepest, most secret part of his heart.

“I can’t tell you that,” he whispered, “for what I want…could never be.”

“Don’t say never,” she said quickly, taking hold of the collar of his shirt with one hand and moving closer to him, “Don’t ever say that.” She had finally seen in his eyes what she had wished to see for years and she knew there was no going back now.

“Jesalis,” Tobiah spoke her name so softly, “Your parents…”

“Oh, _damn_ my parents,” she said, “and damn _you_ if you think they’d be able to stop me!”

All of a sudden, his lips were on hers and their arms were entwined around each other. Jesalis thought her heart had suddenly become light enough to fly and she clung to Tobiah like a lifeline, barely coming up for breath. “Tell me,” she said to him, their lips a breath apart.

“You,” he whispered, “what I want most is you.”

“You are all that I want,” she told him, “all I need. I love you.”

“I love you,” Tobiah said, like a man confessing his greatest sin, “I have been in love with you for years, little bird.” He sighed, kissing her hair, and clutching her close. “But that doesn’t make it any less impossible. Your father would _never_ allow us to marry.”

“I don’t need his approval,” Jesalis insisted, but Tobiah shook his head.

“Jesalis, you love your parents,” he said, “I know it would break your heart to hurt them. If you ran off and married me without their consent, they would be within their rights to cut you from their lives.”

“And if they did that, it would be all they deserve of me,” Jesalis said, pulling back so that she could see his face, “If I were forced to choose, Tobiah, my choice would always be you.”

“Jes,” Tobiah murmured, shaking his head.

“I am the last Rosendrath,” she reminded, “My father’s only child. He cannot _afford_ to cut me off. I’m selfish, Toby,” she said, her lips hovering above his, “I am a spoiled little girl who is very used to getting her way. Why should that change now?”

Tobiah kissed her again, softly this time, and Jesalis all but melted in his arms. “We’ll figure this out,” he said.

“Keep it our little secret for now?” Jesalis suggested.

“Makes it a little more fun,” Tobiah said with a grin, “Don’t you think?”

“You talk too much,” Jesalis told him, pulling him off the path to a soft patch of grass.

“ _I_ talk too much?” he retorted, “Now, what does that say about _you_?”  

 

 

 

 

It was some time before they returned to the Rosendrath Manor, and both had trouble concealing smiles and looks with one another. But when they snuck in the servants’ entrance through the kitchen, Jesalis’s maid caught up with them. The girl looked pale and anxious.

“My lady, your parents have a guest,” she said quickly, “he arrived an hour ago. Everyone has been wondering where you’ve been!”

Jesalis felt the smile slip away. “Who is here?” she asked hurriedly, grasping her maid’s shoulder.

“Lord Slytherin,” the girl whispered with her eyes wide.

Jesalis glanced at Tobiah. She could not read his face.

“I’d best change,” Jesalis said after a moment, “I’m not fit for such company in my riding dress. Come,” she said to the maid, drawing her away.

With her maid’s help, Jesalis quickly shed her rather untidy riding dress and slipped into one of her best gowns. It was a deep crimson velvet, which left her shoulders bare. Her maid brushed out her hair and then pinned it up, with a few red-brown tendrils hanging over one pale shoulder.

Jesalis went down to the parlor her father favored for entertaining guests and was relieved to see she had guessed right. Her mother and father were seated on one couch, and Salazar sat on the edge of one of the chairs. When she entered the room, he immediately rose. It seemed to Jesalis that he had been waiting for her to appear.

“Jesalis,” he said, smiling at the sight of her, “By the gods, look at you! Where has the time gone that you’ve grown without my seeing?”

“Salazar,” she said, taking his hands in hers. She leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly. “It is good to see you again.” Truly, it was, though his timing was horrendous.

“Well, it had been quite some time since your last letter,” he said, raising a brow, “I wanted to be sure that you were well.”

Jesalis blushed and dipped her head. “I have been very remiss in keeping my promise,” she confessed, “I am sorry.”

“All for the best, I think,” he said, “for I find the sight of you much better than ink and parchment.”

“Daughter, where have you been all afternoon?” Arcaine demanded to know.

Jessamine chided him softly, but Jesalis looked from Salazar to him.

“I’m sorry, Father, I was out riding. I did know that we were expecting such exalted company. I would have returned much sooner, had I know.”

“My fault entirely, my lady,” Salazar said, turning and placing his hand at the small of her back. He led her to the chair beside his and they sat. “I gave no warning,” Salazar admitted, with a wry smile, “I admit, I wanted to surprise your father.”

“You wanted to surprise my daughter,” Jessamine corrected with a smile of her own.

“True enough,” Arcaine said, “You’ve corresponded more with her these last couple of years than you have with me in the last decade!”

“As if you’ve excelled at keeping in touch, old friend,” Salazar said, “When was the last I’d from you before I sent invitation to Hogwarts, hm?”

“How goes the school?” Jesalis interjected.

“Quite well,” Salazar replied, “We’ve over a hundred students housed in the castle now. Brilliant children, they’ve exceeded all of our expectations so far.”

“And what of Godric and the others? How are they?”

“They’re all in fine form,” Salazar told her, “A bit annoyed with me at the moment for dashing off. Although…” He paused, glancing around at the three of them. “I suppose I can trust you all enough to say—Rowena is with child.”

“With child?” Jesalis repeated incredulous.

Jessamine covered her mouth with one hand.

Arcaine let out a surprised and humorless laugh. “Did she marry without telling anyone in the last two years?” he asked.

“No,” Salazar replied, “Nor will she tell anyone who the father is.”

“Truly? How utterly dishonorable! A woman of her standing?”

“I would argue that a woman of Rowena’s singular standing can afford a few sins,” Jesalis said rather sharply, “Really, Father, are you anyone to judge her actions? What have _you_ given the world that equals what she has contributed to?”

“I see you have kept your first promise better than the second,” Salazar remarked, “You’ve obviously not lost a whit of that passion I enjoyed the first time we met.”

Jesalis looked at him with dangerously narrowed eyes. “No, my lord, not a whit,” she said slowly, “and I do not appreciate being baited for your amusement. Tell me, my lord, and answer truthfully, do you share my father’s sentiment of Rowena?”

“I feel as though I am treading on dangerous ground,” Salazar said with half a laugh.

“You are,” Jesalis assured him, “Answer the question.”

“Jesalis!” Jessamine hissed, shocked at her daughter’s tone. But Jesalis didn’t take her eyes from Salazar. He met her gaze unflinchingly.

“I am a traditional sort of man, Jesalis,” he told her, “so, I can freely admit that I was shocked at the hearing of it. But you _are_ right. Rowena is a remarkable woman and her situation now does not change that. The shock will wear off. Her reputation will stand the storm of it.”

“That is a good answer,” Jesalis said softly.

“Arcaine,” Salazar said without taking his eyes from her, “Would it be alright if your daughter and I took a walk before dinner?”

“I think my daughter will do as she likes regardless of what I think,” Arcaine replied dryly, “but I’ve no issue with it.”

Salazar stood, offering a hand to Jesalis. She hesitated to take it. She glanced over at her mother and saw something rather knowing in her eyes. The air had changed, taken on a sort of charge. There was something that Jesalis had missed, something she didn’t know. But she took his hand and allowed him to draw her from the room.  

 

 

 

 

“You were still half a child when I first met you,” Salazar said as they walked arm in arm through the gardens around the Manor, “It is almost baffling to see you grown.”

“It baffles my parents constantly, my lord,” Jesalis said, smiling a little, “and they were here to see me grow.”

“How goes your tutelage?” he asked her, “and your tutor? I’ve not seen him yet. He is still here, yes?”

“Oh, of course,” Jesalis said, “Father is still…uncomfortable having someone of Tobiah’s low birth beneath his roof. Tobiah is grateful enough to my parents for providing him a home that he does not press them with his company.”

“Ah,” Salazar said, “Your tutor is considerate.”

“Sometimes too much so,” Jesalis murmured, “My father forgets that Tobiah is the reason I am still alive. But I have hoped too long for peace between them to expect it now.”

“And your magic? Has that progressed since last we met?”

Jesalis smiled and each flower around them lit up like fireflies in the waning sunlight. The lights drifted up and danced in the air above them. Salazar stared at them with fascination as they faded slowly.

“By leaps and bounds, my lord,” Jesalis told him.

“But it still weakens you to use it too often?”

“Yes,” Jesalis said, almost sadly, “The price of being a Mage, my lord.”

“What is this ‘my lord’ nonsense?” he demanded to know, drawing her to a stop, “I thought us past such formality.”

Jesalis did not know what to say.

Salazar touched a hand beneath her chin. “We are friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course,” Jesalis replied, but there was suspicion in her eyes.

Salazar smiled to see it. “You are a sharp girl, Jesalis,” he murmured.

_Sharp enough to realize now why you’ve come visiting_ , she thought. But she held her tongue, having enough care for him to not want to hurt him. “We should return to the Manor,” she said instead, “I am sure they are waiting on us.”

They were quiet on the walk back, but Jesalis’s mind whirled in an almost panic. 

 

 

 

 

It was well after midnight when Jesalis made her way to Tobiah’s rooms in the servants’ quarters. She moved silently, with the aid of her power, and she paused before his door, glancing around to be sure that the hall was empty. With another spark of power, she unlocked his door and quickly slipped inside.

Tobiah was pacing before his little fireplace and he froze when she entered. “Jesalis,” he whispered, “You’ve got to stop doing this.”

“He’s come courting, Tobiah,” she told him sharply, “Salazar. Oh, I feel so _stupid_!” she whispered furiously, pulling at her hair, “It is so _obviously_ what my parents have been planning since we were first introduced. All the attention he paid me, the way he _stared_ , it is so clear now. You saw it, didn’t you?” she demanded, “At Hogwarts, but you didn’t tell me. You just made some comment about me being ‘so young’.”

“I suspected,” Tobiah admitted, “But I hoped I was wrong. The more time passed…but it seems he was just waiting, wasn’t he?”

“Toby,” Jesalis said softly, “why are you looking at me like that? You act as though I have died.”

“Because this changes things, little bird,” he said sadly, “It was one thing, to talk of marrying without permission when you had no other suitors, but to deny a man like Slytherin…”

“It changes _nothing_ ,” Jesalis insisted, crossing to him. She took his face in her hands. “I _love_ you. I love _you_. I don’t care what Salazar wants or what my parents want. It is _my_ life.”

“Slytherin…would be a fine husband for you,” Tobiah said, each word spoken as if forced from his mouth, “He could give you a life that I never could.”

“Toby, don’t be ridiculous!”

“Don’t shout like that,” he whispered tersely, putting a hand over her mouth.

There were tears in her eyes, but Jesalis would not let them fall.

“Slytherin is a man of great distinction,” Tobiah said slowly, lowering his hand, “and I’m the son of a pig farmer.”

“I’d rather the pigs, if it meant a life with you,” Jesalis told him.

Tobiah began to laugh helpless, trying desperately to keep quiet. Jesalis wrapped her arms around his neck and silenced his laughter with a kiss. He held her against him, kissing her as though he would never see her again. It was several minutes before he found he could force himself to pull back.

“You should get back to your room,” he told her softly, “before you’ve discovered.”

“I set an illusion on my room,” Jesalis told him, “and locked the door.”

“Jes,” Tobiah muttered, laughing again.

“If you think I’m leaving tonight, you’re mad,” she stated simply, “The only bed I intend to take tonight is yours.”

Tobiah could find no words. He stared down at her, one hand running through her hair. “Are you certain?” he asked her.

“More so than I have ever been before,” she replied, slipping out of her dressing gown.

Her nightgown was thin for the summer weather and the way it clung to her caught Tobiah’s breath. “…Come to bed then,” he said, giving in. 

 

 

 

 

Later, wrapped in nothing but her lover’s arms, Jesalis allowed herself to feel the slightest edge of fear.

“What are we going to do?” she asked in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Tobiah admitted.

“We could run,” Jesalis said, “If we ran, they wouldn’t be able to follow us. They’d never find us.”

“And you might never see your family again,” Tobiah reminded her, “I know you think it’s worth it now, little bird, but years from now, you may change your mind. Let’s give it just a little time, test the waters here and there. If there is even the smallest chance that we can get approval for a marriage, we have to search for it.”

He sighed and Jesalis felt the breath and beat of his heart from where her head lay on his chest.

“What to do with the Lord Slytherin, though?” he asked, “You said it yourself, little bird, that man does nothing by halves. It would not occur to him that you would say no.”

“I’ll deal with Salazar,” Jesalis said firmly, “I have to believe that he is my friend enough to understand.”

Tobiah kissed the top of her head. “Get some sleep,” he murmured into her hair, “We’ll have to sneak you out before the servants wake tomorrow morning.”

 

 

 

 

Despite her wishes, Jesalis did not have an opportunity to speak privately with Salazar for several days. He did not take her walking alone as he had that first night, and her parents always seemed to be nearby. Her father with his heavy-handed hints and her mother with her knowing looks. It was enough to drive her mad.

Salazar had been there for a week before Jesalis found herself alone with him in the gardens again.

“I hope you and your parents are not tiring of my company,” Salazar said as they walked.

Arcaine and his wife had been walking with them, but Jessamine had complain of a headache and Jesalis’s father was forced to escort her back to the Manor. Jesalis gave silent thanks for her mother’s effort to get them alone.

“Don’t be silly,” Jesalis told him, “We could never tire of a friend’s company.”

“I am grateful, I admit, for this opportunity to walk alone with you again,” Salazar told her, “Your father is a great friend, but I’m finding your company far more appealing.”

“I know what you are doing,” Jesalis told him, turning to face him.

“Oh?”

“You have been very carefully courting me since you arrived, my lord,” Jesalis said flatly.

Salazar lowed his gaze and was silent.

“I am sorry to be so blunt, my lord,” she continued, taking his hand, “but I must end this before you are too hurt. I cannot marry you.”

“Is it my age?” he asked gently, “I had wondered…there are fifteen years between us…”

“No,” Jesalis said quickly, squeezing his hand between hers, “No, Salazar, your age never occurred to me. It is _my_ age that forces my answer.”

“Your age? What on earth do you mean?”

“Salazar, I am well and healthy, especially so for a Mage,” Jesalis said, “but the fact remains that I _am_ a Mage. Tobiah is twenty-two. He is the oldest living Mage that we can find record of. The reality is that we know so little about our affliction in later years that there is no future for us that is assured. And while it is true that I find great value in our friendship…I do not love you.”

“I know we have not known each other long, Jesalis,” Salazar said, “A meeting more than two years before and scattered latters does not give much to build a marriage on, I understand. But given time—”

“But there is it, Salazar,” Jesalis said quickly, “ _Time_. Yes, it is true, we may grow to love each other. But I may not have the time for ‘maybes’. I am as determined as I was two years ago, Salazar, to _live_ my life. I must be more than just someone’s wife.”

“As if you could ever be ‘just someone’s wife’,” Salazar told her with a smile. “I understand, my lady.”

“Are we still friends?” she asked him gently.

“Of course we are,” he assured her, kissing her hand, “As we shall ever be, Jesalis. As we shall ever be.”

 

 

 

 


	91. Tobiah

_“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”_

 

 

 

The next day, Jesalis took Salazar to a secret room within the Manor. It was one that her parents never entered, nor acknowledged existed at all. “This,” she told him as they stood before the door, “is the Mage Room.” She took out a small key, topped with the Rosendrath crest, and unlocked the door, pushing it open.

Within was a simple room, one wall lined with portraits, the other with torches to provide light, for there were no widows. At the far end of the room were shelves filled with book and scrolls of varying ages. Salazar’s eyes widened as he slowly walked down the line of portraits.

“Mages,” he murmured, “all of them?”

“All,” Jesalis replied with a nod, “After the first few Mages died so young, it became my family’s tradition to have a portrait painted on their seventeenth birthday, to mark the accomplishment of living to the coming of age.”

“Was she the first Mage to reach seventeen?” Salazar asked, gesturing to the first portrait.

“We don’t know,” Jesalis said, “This affliction has plagued my family for centuries, many times a Mage was not recognized at all.”

“Your portrait is here?” Salazar asked, moving down the line towards the end.

“Yes,” she said, walking with him, “as is Tobiah’s. Salazar, tell me what you see when you look at these portraits?”

He paused, glancing at her. Then he looked more closely at the paintings. “They…they all look so tired,” he said at last, “weak.”

“I brought you here because I want you to understand the threat I face,” Jesalis told him.

“I understand, Jesalis,” Salazar said, turning to face her, “I do. That does not stop me from wishing it wasn’t so.”

Jesalis smiled at him. “I am grateful to have a friend that does,” she said, “so few people do. Even my parents do not share your understanding. It is important to me,” she continued, “to have someone who can stand outside this affliction and see what it for what it is.”

“I am honored by your confidence,” Salazar said.

“It is important to me because I am the _last_ of the direct line,” Jesalis said, “and as a Mage, I may not live to have to children. But Tobiah is strong proof that a Mage can be born generations apart from our line. His family didn’t even know they shared such distant blood with us. I need your help and your great influence to reach future generations. With Hogwarts, you hold the future of the Wizarding world in your hands. Will you help us too?”

“I will,” Salazar told her, “I swear to you.”

“Thank you.”

Jesalis and Salazar turned at the sound of Tobiah’s voice from the doorway.

“Really,” Tobiah said, crossing to them and offering Salazar his hand, “Thank you so much. It has been a concern of ours for quite some time.”

“I am grateful and honored for the chance to assist you both,” Salazar said, taking the young man’s hand, “But surely, I am not the only one who can help?”

“I have been talking with Godric, actually,” Tobiah said, surprising both Jesalis and Salazar, “about moving this very room to somewhere secret and secure with Hogwarts itself.”

“Why?” Salazar asked him.

“Because I believe that Hogwarts will stand the test of time much better than this manor,” Tobiah told him, “Your school is a beacon, Salazar, and will be protect far more than a family home when there is no family to guard it. Come,” he said then, “this room is uncomfortable at best.”

In total agreement, Jesalis followed him, but she glanced back when Salazar hesitated. He was staring at her portrait most intently, but Jesalis saw his eyes flicker towards Tobiah’s. She thought, for just a moment, that a shadow crossed the man’s face, but it was gone before she could be sure. He turned away, hurrying his step to catch up with her.

“I did not know you were in contact with Godric,” Salazar said to Tobiah once they were well away from the Mage Room.

“For some time, actually,” Tobiah admitted, “Like you and Jesalis, we agreed to write to one another during our visit to Hogwarts. He’s given me a few ideas when it comes to our Magecraft, implementing ideas from conventional magicks into our own.”

“I see,” Salazar murmured, “Well, in any case, I’d say it has been far too long since your last visit. You should both come to Hogwarts again soon.”

“We shall,” Tobiah said, nodding, “Jesalis, I was going to take advantage of the weather and go riding. Would you and Salazar like to join me?”

“I would,” Jesalis said, “Salazar? We could show you the rest of the grounds and the forest here is beautiful.”

“I like the sound of that,” Salazar said, “Let us go.”     

 

 

 

 

Salazar took his leave of the Rosendrath Manor shortly after that. Jesalis still received the occasional letter from as the year progressed, but the tone had changed.

Jesalis and Tobiah continued their secret affair, both half waiting to be discovered and dreading the consequences. But despite that looming threat, they were happy, deliriously so. Jesalis rarely took the risk of sneaking into Tobiah’s rooms at night, but they had plenty of opportunity to see each other alone during the day. Her father’s distain of Tobiah’s company became convenient rather than hurtful, for it gave them excuse to hold her lessons in Magecraft outside of the Manor, and away from prying eyes.

Time seemed to fly and before Jesalis knew it, months had passed. Before the year was out, she and Tobiah received official invitation from the four Founders to visit Hogwarts. Jesalis was eager to return to the castle, for Rowena had just recently given birth to a daughter. Jesalis had a great desire to meet her.

So, surrounded by white winter, they set out, traveling by horse rather than carriage. It was both strange and wonderful to travel alone together. Whenever they broke their journey at an inn, they were free to share a single room and strangers assumed they were married. Jesalis longed for the day that would be true.

Part of her almost wanted to never reach Hogwarts, but in truth she missed Rowena and Helga, and the castle itself called to her.

“We could disappear on the road back,” she whispered to Tobiah one night after they’d settled into a room. It would be their last night in an inn before they reached Hogwarts.

“We could,” Tobiah murmured, “It’s tempting, little bird.”

“We could travel the world together,” Jesalis said with a small smile, resting her head on his chest and entwining her fingers in his, “just like this. We could changes our names, earn a living as scribes or entertainers and find ourselves a little house somewhere.”

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

“Often,” she admitted.

Tobiah touched her cheek and then sat up. He turned to look down at where she lay. “Let’s do it.”

Jesalis’s eyes sparkled and she bolted up. “Do you mean it?” she asked him, “Do you really mean it?”

“I do,” Tobiah told her, “These last months have been both wonderful and horrible all at the same time. I’m tired of living in fear that someone is going to catch us and tell your parents. You were right before—when we run, they won’t be able to follow. We’d be free.”

“Toby,” she murmured, “I love you.”

“I love you too, little bird,” he whispered, pressing his lips to hers.

“We’ll give it a little while,” she said then, “and write a letter to my parents letting them know I’m alright. Maybe in a few years, they’ll get used to the idea of their daughter being married.”

Tobiah smiled and touched his forehead to hers. “I was going to save this for your next birthday,” he murmured, “but I think now would be more appropriate.” He got up from the bed, going to their saddlebags in the corner of the room.

Jesalis waited on the bed, wondering just what her lover was up to.

He returned to her side, holding something small in his hand. Jesalis raised a brow at him and he grinned as he opened his hand to show her.

It was a ring, a simple silver band set with a pale blue topaz carved into a rose. Jesalis felt tears come unbidden to her eyes.

“Oh, Toby.”

“Consider this my proposal, little bird,” he said, still smiling, “I love you, Jesalis Rosendrath, and I am asking you, please, to be my wife.”

“You know my answer,” she said, wiping at the tears.

“Say it anyway.”

“Yes,” she said with a laugh, “Yes, you fool.”

“A fool am I?” he asked, taking her hand in his.

“Yes,” she replied as he slipped the ring onto her finger, “and I shall be a fool’s wife.”   

 

 

 

 

They reached Hogwarts by mid-afternoon the next day and were greeted by three of the Founders, and a small gathering of their eldest students. Jesalis threw a grin at Tobiah and dismounted swiftly, holding out her hands to Salazar, who had rushed forward.

“Welcome back,” he told her, taking her hands in his and kissing both of her cheeks.

“Oh, it is good to be back,” Jesalis replied, “I think I had almost forgotten what a sight this castle was!”

Salazar laughed and turned to Tobiah, offering a hand to him. “Master Jarith,” he said, “Welcome.”

“Lord Slytherin,” Tobiah replied, with a nod and slight smile.

“Stop hogging them, Salazar,” Helga said, coming closer. She wrapped Jesalis up in a warm embrace, squeezing tight. “You look beautiful,” she told the girl, pulling back and touching a hand to Jesalis’s cheek, “It is hard to believe it’s been almost three years since I saw you last,” she said, “but here is the proof right before my eyes, with you all grown up!”

“I’m so sorry so much time has passed since I visited,” Jesalis said, “I have missed you and Rowena terribly.”

“Speaking of,” Helga said, turning towards the castle, “let’s get you inside to see Rowena and to meet her daughter. She didn’t dare expose the child to the chill out here.”

Jesalis started to follow her at once, but paused, glancing around for Tobiah. But it seemed that he had already been dragged off to one side by Godric and the two men were speaking excitedly about something. Jesalis met his eyes and he nodded to her, gesturing towards the castle.

“Oh, I’ve so been looking forward to meeting her,” Jesalis told Helga as they hurried through the snow to the castle steps, “I bet she’s as beautiful as her mother.”

“We’re starting to see it,” Helga said with a laugh, “But, oh, she was born a red squalling little thing.” 

Jesalis laughed along with her as they made their way to the tower where Rowena lived. They found the woman sitting by one of the high windows, her baby daughter wrapped in a soft grey blanket in her arms. She was dressed in a simple blue dress, her hair undone, and her face unadorned, a far different image that Jesalis had seen before.

Rowena turned as they entered and she smiled. Jesalis thought that she had never looked more beautiful than she did at the moment. She found herself smiling brightly back and she stepped closer to place a kiss on Rowena’s cheek. She stayed that close, looking down at the baby.

“Oh, Rowena, she is so lovely. What is her name?”

“Helena,” Rowena replied, turning her smile to her child, “My bright one, my joy. Would you like to hold her?”

Jesalis wanted to, almost desperately. “I’ve never held a baby before,” she admitted, wanting to be honest.

“Then you must practice,” Rowena insisted. She passed the child over, gently correcting Jesalis’s hold of her before stepping back.

Jesalis held her as if she were made of glass, precious and breakable. “Hello, Helena,” she whispered as the baby blinked up at her, “We are going to be great friends, you and I.” Jesalis rocked the baby a little, her heart full to bursting with a love she didn’t quite understand.

“You’ll be a great mother someday,” Helga told her.

“I hope so,” Jesalis said softly, “I hope to live long enough.”

“You will,” Rowena said firmly, standing at her side, a hand at the young woman’s back, “I have every confidence in you and your Tobiah.”

Jesalis felt the ring she’d hung on a chain rest heavily over her heart.

“Jesalis, may I ask you something?”

“Of course, Rowena,” she replied.

“For the last couple of years, I have heard something in Salazar’s voice whenever he spoke of you,” Rowena said, “But since his return from your family’s home…it has changed.”

“He is not angry with me, is he?” Jesalis asked quickly.

“No,” Rowena said, “why would he be angry?”

Jesalis sighed and leaned her head down to touch her lips to Helena’s forehead. “Because I said ‘no’…before he took the chance to propose.”

“Ah,” Rowena murmured, “I’d wondered if that was it. So, why ‘no’?”

“I do not love him,” Jesalis said simply, “Not the way a wife should love a husband. And I do not have the surety of future to marry without the assurance of love.”

“That is a very good reason,” Rowena said, “and I cannot fault you for it. Even if I am a little disappointed. Now, all the teasing I’d planned to give him about marry someone half his age will go to waste.”

Jesalis laughed despite herself at the wicked little grin Rowena wore.

But Helga saw something that Rowena had missed. “Is there someone you do love?” she asked.

Both women watched the humor fade from Jesalis’s face.

She did not answer. She could not. As much as she adored these two marvelous women, she would not chance them telling anyone else about her pact with Tobiah. Even if it was done with the best of intentions, they could destroy her.

“I…I do not know if I dare take the chance of love,” she said at last.

“Oh, child, I am sorry,” Helga said at once, “I did not mean to upset you.”

“Never mind it,” Jesalis said quickly, “All is well. Do you suppose we should see what the boys are up to?”

Both Helga and Rowena gracefully allowed her to change the subject.

But they wondered. 

 

 

 

 

Rowena settled Helena down for nap, leaving a house-elf to watch over the babe while she slept. “Fetch me if she wakes,” Rowena instructed the elf, looking down at her child as if she were pained to be even a step away from her.

“Yes, m’lady,” the elf squeaked.

Rowena touched a hand to the elf’s head, smiling. “Thank you, Henny, you’ve been such a help to me.”

The house-elf smiled brightly up at the woman.

Rowena turned to the others. “Now, let’s see where the men have wandered off to.”

They left the tower, but paused at the bottom of the stair. “Do you suppose they’re still outside?” Helga suggested.

“Wait,” Jesalis said, holding up a hand, “I can check.” She closed her eyes and reached out with her magicks, seeking Tobiah. He felt her reaching and caught her thought within his.

_Seventh floor, my love_.

Jesalis smiled, silently sending a wave of the love she felt to him. She felt it returned. “They’re on the seventh floor,” she said to Helga and Rowena.

“Clever trick,” Rowena said, impressed.

Jesalis lifted her shoulders, for it was not a difficult task. “Come,” she said, “I got the impression that they were up to something.”

They found Tobiah, along with Godric and Salazar, in an empty corridor on the seventh floor. Jesalis didn’t understand what they were doing, but Rowena gave an impatient sigh.

“Oh, Godric, not this bit of frivolity again!”

Godric gave her a grin that bore all the signs of mischief, “Frivolity, my ass, dear one. This room is the very definition of useful and valid.”

“Perhaps so,” Rowena conceded, “if it _worked_. You’ve yet to manage that, my honey-tongued friend.”

“Bet on it?” Godric asked, raising a brow.

Rowena’s eyes narrowed. Jesalis got the feeling that the woman never backed down from a challenge. She strode forward, head high, and the men moved a ways back. “Same method as before?” Rowena asked, her voice certain.

“Three times,” Godric told her, waving the corresponding fingers, “and the door shall appear.”

“We shall see, won’t we?”

Jesalis gave Helga a puzzled look, but the woman just shook her head and ushered Jesalis back a couple of steps. She watched with bemusement as Rowena paced before an empty stretch of wall three times. She felt a stirring of strange magic and found herself holding her breath as something seemed to snap into place on the other side of the wall.

Rowena stopped and turned, blinking at the sight of a door that had not been there a moment before. She gave Godric a rather dirty look and pulled it open, stepping into the room beyond. They heard her gasp and followed her quickly.

The ceiling was as high as a cathedral’s and it was filled with shelves upon shelves that touched it, filled beyond reason with thousands upon thousands of books. Jesalis was entranced by the room, but she still cast a curious glance at Tobiah, who was grinning ear to ear. She did not quite understand what was going on.

“Impressive, Rowena,” Godric said, nodding to the many, many books, “Now, everybody out.”

As confused as ever, Jesalis followed Helga out. Rowena hesitated a breath longer than the others, but she too left the room. Godric closed the door smartly, smiling very proudly. He waved them back to where they had been standing before, but this time he was the one who paced the three times.

Again, Jesalis felt the magic of the room shift suddenly and then fall back into place. It was a very disorienting sort of feeling.

Godric put a hand on the door, but he paused long enough to glance around at them. Grinning, he then threw open the door, and gestured for them to enter. Jesalis stepped inside beside Helga and her jaw dropped to the floor.

The room had changed drastically. Now, it had the seeming of a well-stocked armory, with swords, knives, armor, and spears.

“What is this place?” she asked Godric, looking at him with wide eyes.

He shrugged, looking very pleased. “I’ve been calling it the Come and Go Room.”

“That name is ridiculous,” Rowena muttered.

Godric ignored her. “It only appears when it is needed. One must walk before it three times, with something of need in mind, and the door appears. Within it—whatever it was they needed.”

“This is incredible!” Jesalis said with a laugh.

“He’s been working on it for years now,” Salazar said, clapping his friend on the shoulder, “His little obsession.”

“I cannot tell you all how wonderful it is to _finally_ have it,” Godric said.

“Rowena does have a point about the name,” Helga said.

“Oh, very well then,” Godric said with a put-upon sigh. He mused for a moment and then smiled. “How does the ‘Room of Requirement’ suit you, Rowena love?”

Rowena rolled her eyes, but Jesalis caught the light of pride in them. Despite her annoyance at being toyed with, Rowena was terribly proud of her friend’s accomplishment. “It’ll do,” she said, “I suppose.”

Jesalis moved to stand beside Tobiah. He touched a hand to her back out of habit and smiled at her.

“So? What do you think?”

“How much help did you give him?” she asked him in an undertone.

“Not that much,” Tobiah told her, “The magic was sound, and an impressive bit of work it was, but he was a little off on the theory. I gave him a couple of pointers and here we are.”

“It is well done,” Jesalis said, “and what is a castle without a few secret rooms?”

“And what is a secret room without its own secrets?”

“What do you mean?”

Tobiah winked at her. “I’ll show you later. Godric and I set it up, but I want to properly test it when it’s just the two of us.”

Jesalis stuck her tongue out at him, but didn’t press. Instead, she rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

But then she caught sight of Salazar.

The man was still talking with Godric, but his eyes were on her and Tobiah. There was something in his eyes that she could not read.

For the first time since their initial meeting, Jesalis felt the slightest chill. 

 

 

 

 

Jesalis and Tobiah spent several uneventful days at Hogwarts, enjoying the company of the Founders and even meeting a number of the young students there. Jesalis felt warmed by their enthusiasm for learning. Their ages ranged from ten or eleven to a few who were her own age. They were all terribly curious about her and Tobiah; these secretive young strangers who were so close to their mentors. But she and Tobiah had decided before their arrival that there would be no demonstrations this time. They wanted to keep a relatively low profile this visit.

It was odd and somewhat frustrating for Jesalis that she and Tobiah had so little time alone though. She did not dare try to sneak into his rooms at night, nor he hers, and their days were filled with people. They’d been there almost a week when she managed to slip away from Helga and into his rooms during the day.

“Toby?” she called from the doorway.

She knew he was there, but he did not answer. Frowning, she moved towards the bedroom. “Toby?” she called again, “Tobiah, why won’t you answer?”

Her heart seized in her chest when she saw him lying on the bed, eyes closed. He wasn’t sleeping, not to her eyes. His legs were straight, arms crossed over his chest, not at all his usual sprawl.

She hurried to his side, sitting on the edge of the bed. Reaching out a hand, she touched his arm. “Toby?” she whispered, suddenly, desperately afraid.

He felt cold.

Jesalis pressed her fingers to his throat, somewhat comforted by the steady pulse she felt. “Tobiah,” she said firmly, “Toby, wake up!”

Her heart was pounding. She was only just thinking of running for help when Tobiah finally opened his eyes. He took a gasping breath like someone who was surfacing for air after diving deep into the water. He sat up, clutching his chest.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered raggedly. He blinked and looked at Jesalis. “Hey,” he said, looking rather sheepish.

“‘Hey’?” she repeated questionably.

Tobiah attempted a smile—which was slapped away by Jesalis’s swift hand.

“Don’t you _ever_ frighten me like that again!” she shouted, standing up, “By gods, Toby, I feared you _dead_ when I walked in here! What in the name of the gods were you _doing_?”

“Jesalis, calm down,” Tobiah said gently, getting up from the bed as well. He took her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering there. “I am so sorry,” Tobiah murmured, “I gave no thought as to how that would appear from the outside.”

“How what would appear?” Jesalis demanded harshly, though she did lower her voice.

“I was…meditating,” Tobiah said.

“Meditating? That didn’t look like meditating, Toby!”

She knew that he did practice meditation and encouraged her to do the same. It helped give them focus and control of their powers. Too many Magi of the past had drained their powers unknowingly. Jesalis found it difficult, her mind was always racing too much to clear it, but she practiced all the same.

“Jes,” Tobiah said, and he smiled a little, “my little bird, you remember my theory?”

“About the source of magic?”

Tobiah nodded, waiting.

“That there is…magic in the world, all around and in everything and wizards and witches are born with the ability to direct it, shape it—and that…somehow…we Magi were born with a direct link to the source. Therefore we do not need spells to direct it…for us, it just _is_.”

“Exactly,” Tobiah murmured, “Jes, while I was meditating, I focused on my power itself. Somehow, I was able to follow it. It’s hard to describe what I saw…what I felt, but it was like I was standing on this endless void of black. I could feel and almost _see_ this tether at my heart and it extended out somewhere beyond that void, beyond the black. I think that I was…somewhere in-between us…and wherever lies the source.”

“In-between?”

“Yes,” Tobiah said, “that’s why I didn’t hear you call at first…I wasn’t really _here_.”

“Tobiah, this sounds impossibly dangerous,” she told him.

“It could be,” he admitted, “but it could also be useful.”

“You promised me that you would always be careful with your experiments,” she reminded him.

“I will be,” Tobiah told her, pulling her close again, “and I’ll make you another promise. I will never leave you alone. No matter how far I go— I will _always_ find my way back to you.”  

“I will hold you to that promise,” Jesalis said, looking up at him, “I fear what would become of me if I did not have you.”

“Oh, you’ve more strength than you know,” Tobiah said, “But I’ll keep that promise—just in case.”

Jesalis reached out a hand, brushing hair from his face. Her fear still shone in her eyes. “Tobiah,” she said softly, “there is silver in your hair.”

For the first time, there was a trace of fear in his face as well as hers. They both knew the signs of overreaching; weakness, nosebleeds, and on rare occasions, their hair could lose color. Often, by the time a young Mage passed, they did so with hair turned completely white.

“Well, perhaps it is for the best,” Tobiah said brightly, “Maybe with a little silver in my hair, people will stop treating me like a little boy and take me seriously.”

“Toby…”

“Come,” he said, “Let’s use this rare moment alone. I’ll show you what Godric and I did with the Room of Requirement.”

 

 

 

 

They indulged in a bit of magic, rendering themselves invisible to the eye, to travel the halls back up to the seventh floor and that empty corridor. Tobiah went down the hall and back again to make certain that there were no students nearby to interrupt them.

“Alright,” he said softly when he returned to Jesalis. He turned his gaze to the blank wall and smiled slightly. “Walk, as Rowena and Godric did, three times before the wall.”

“And think of what?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Tobiah said, “you have a question. You want it answered. The Room will provide.”

Jesalis narrowed her eyes at him, but he smiled and stepped back, leaning against the wall opposite her. Jesalis closed her eyes and walked before the stretch of wall three times, feeling the shift and snap of the magic once more. She pushed the door that had appeared there open.

“Toby?” she whispered, “I can’t see anything inside. It’s all dark. Did I do it wrong?”

“Not a bit, love,” he told her, joining her there at the doorway. “Make a light,” he said, “and step inside.”

Jesalis held up a hand, calling light to her palm, and they entered. Tobiah closed the door behind them and put a hand at Jesalis’s back, moving her further into the room. They’d reached the center of the room when Jesalis noticed something odd.

“The light,” she said, watching tendrils of her power start to drift away towards the far wall.

“Yes,” Tobiah said, smiling, “Look at the wall, little bird.”

Jesalis did, moving closer. “The family crest,” she realized, and further realized that she was standing before yet another door.

“Do you have your key?” Tobiah asked her.

Jesalis turned, frowning, but was glad that the answer was yes. She pulled out the chain around her neck from under her dress, revealing not only the key, but her engagement ring. She slipped the chain off and felt the door with her other hand. She found no knob, but there was a keyhole. She unlocked the door and pushed it in.

Beyond the second door was the Mage Room.

“You did it,” she said, “You and Godric?”

“We did,” Tobiah said, “and there’s more. We have enchanted the Room of Requirement to sense us. If a Mage steps into the Room, no matter what else it provides, it will also provide a key, like ours, if they do not already possess one,” he explained, holding up his own, “and if they come to the Room seeking answers of any kind, the Room will show them that blackness. One touch of power, whether they use it for light like we did or anything, and the Rosendrath crest will appear and so will this room.”

“And even if they knew nothing of us or their own power they find this room with all of the portraits and the writings of Magi past,” Jesalis said, understanding, “Oh, Toby, this is brilliant. If the teachings of Salazar and the others continue, they will recognize people like us, our family, and they can be brought _here._ It’s perfect.”

“If Salazar keeps his promise,” Tobiah muttered.

“Why would he not?” Jesalis asked, “You think he’ll be angered after we run, the two of us?”

“I do not look forward to his reaction or your parents. The other Founders…they may understand.”

“Will your journals be here?” Jesalis asked him then.

“Yes, of course,” Tobiah replied, “and I’ve hidden something else here, just in case.”

“What? What have you hidden?”

“I’ll explain later,” Tobiah told her, “For now, we should get back to the others before they begin to wonder where we’ve disappeared to.”

They left the Room of Requirement, and Jesalis watched this time when the door disappeared once more. Still alone in the hall, Jesalis took Tobiah’s hand as they walked.

“I want children,” she said suddenly, “I know it’s a risk that they’ll be born like us, but I want a family.”

“We’ll have children,” Tobiah assured her, “scores of them, if you’d like.”

Jesalis smacked his shoulder, but she was smiling. “I love you,” she told him.

“I love you back, little bird,” Tobiah replied, pulling her into his arms and kissing her forehead.

“How long should we stay?” Jesalis wondered aloud.

“We’ll give it a couple more days,” Tobiah said, “After all, it may be quite some time before we see our friends here again. We should make the most of it.”

Jesalis took his chin in her hand and tilted his head down to kiss him. It was the first kiss they’d shared since they arrived and it was easy for them to lose themselves in one another.

But Tobiah stiffened and lifted his head, eyes darting around.

“Toby?”

He frowned and looked disturbed. “Sorry,” he murmured, “I just…I thought I felt someone’s eyes upon us.”

Jesalis too looked around the empty hall, but she saw nothing.

“I suppose I’m just being paranoid,” Tobiah said, but he let go of her all the same.

“Let’s find the others,” Jesalis said.

“Yes,” Tobiah said, but that shadow of doubt remained etched on his face.  

 

 

 

 

That night, they dined in the Great Hall with the Founders and their students. They and the Founders were seating on a high table set on the dais, the students at the lower tables. Jesalis sat between Rowena and Helga, Tobiah between Godric and Salazar. Helga explained to Jesalis about the kitchens directly below the Hall and the house-elves they’d employed the year before to help them with the cooking and cleaning.

Rowena sat at the very end of the table, a bassinet beside her with Helena inside. She’d join in the conversation in between focusing on her child. Part way through dinner, Rowena took Helena up in her arms and let the child examine the Hall and the people around. The baby was calm despite the noise, and she seemed more curious than anything else. Jesalis asked to hold her again and Rowena consented.

“She’s just a little angel, isn’t she?” Jesalis commented.

“For the moment,” Rowena said wryly, “she’s a temper, as well, that you’ve yet to see.”

“My, I wondered that temper could have come from,” Jesalis said, tongue in cheek.

“Don’t look at me,” Rowena said, “her temper could have come from her father, for all you know.”

Jesalis bit her lip to keep from asking the question, but Rowena saw it in her eyes nonetheless. “Another time,” the woman murmured.

“You don’t have to tell me a thing,” Jesalis said quietly, “It’s your business, Rowena, and Helena is _your_ daughter. That is what is important.”

“Thank you,” Rowena whispered with a smile.

Helena yawned widely and Rowena took her back, placing her in the bassinet again. Helena fussed a little, but with Rowena’s gentle murmurings, she settled down, closing her eyes. Again came that smile to Rowena’s face and Jesalis was almost awed to see such love in her eyes.

Thinking of her own future, Jesalis had to glance at Tobiah. He caught her eye and smiled at her, but he was embroiled in the talk with Salazar.

“I simply wonder about our security,” Salazar was saying, “with inviting the children of the very people that would see us burned to join us here.”

“And what happens to them if they are discovered? Without us to teach them control of their magic, without us to shield them?” Godric said in turn. Jesalis thought that he sounded a little impatient, as if they’d had this conversation before.

“We should have more of a focus of those children that come from good magic families,” Salazar said firmly.

“Pure-bloods, you mean,” Godric said, almost spitting out the word, “Salazar, for all your wits, you sometimes have the smallest mind in matters.”

Salazar looked to Tobiah, “Surely, you can see my point?”

“A part of it perhaps,” Tobiah said carefully, “But that does not mean I agree. I’ve never seen the point of that argument and I’ve heard it many a time: The ‘purity’ of blood. Utter nonsense in my opinion.”

“Hear, hear,” Helga said fondly.

“Nonsense?” Salazar repeated, a hiss in the word.

“Well, look at Jesalis and I,” Tobiah said, “The direct line of the Rosendraths is the purest of blood and I am anything but. Yet here we stand, of equal power. Oh, I know Magi are not wizards, but still. Blood has no meaning to us, save for that quirk in the line that made us what we are. The purity of Jesalis’s blood gives her no more power than me. Likewise, my muddled blood had no say either. We are what we are and it is as simple as that.”

“Well said,” Jesalis commented.

“You share his views, Jes?” Salazar asked her, “Are you not proud of your blood?”

“I am proud of my family,” Jesalis told him, “There is a difference.”

“Ah.”

The subject was changed after that and dinner continued smoothly.

Before they went their separate ways to their beds, Tobiah and Jesalis stole a moment alone in a deserted alcove.

“Let’s leave tomorrow,” Jesalis whispered between their stolen kisses.

“Why in such a hurry?” Tobiah asked her.

“I think that Salazar may suspect something,” she said, “The way he’s been looking at us this last day…I think it’s time that we go.”

“As you wish,” Tobiah said simply, “We’ll leave tomorrow afternoon, after we’ve had time to say our goodbyes.”    

 

 

 

 

Jesalis woke the next morning just before dawn, her heart pounding. She sat up in bed, trying to puzzle out what had woken her. Had she dreamt something? Was that why her heart pounded so? She took several deep breaths, trying to calm her heart, but her instincts screamed at her that something was very _wrong_.

Distressed, Jesalis closed her eyes and reached out with her power to find Tobiah, wanting reassurance.

She could not find him.

Her eyes snapped open and she leapt from her bed, pulling on her dressing gown and running into the hall. As early as it was, she met no one in the halls as she raced to Tobiah’s rooms.

“Toby?’ she called when she reached his door, and she began to beat upon the surface of it, “Toby, are you there? Toby, answer me, please!”

Nothing.

Jesalis stepped back from the door, unbidden power sparking around her in her anxiety. She used a spark of that power to unlock the door and pushed her way in. She searched that first sitting room and the bedroom and saw no sign that Tobiah had ever reached his bed that night.

_Where could he be? Did he leave the school for some reason last night?_

She could only think of one place within the school that he might be, somewhere where perhaps the magicks of the room were interfering with her own. Jesalis clutched her dressing gown closed and made her way to the Room of Requirement.

She felt all of the breath in her body escape her in relief when she saw that the door of the Room was cracked open. She rushed to it, pushing it open, and was welcomed by the sight of the dark room beyond and the light coming from the open Mage room as well.

“Toby?” she called out as she hurried across to the second door. Peering inside the Mage Room, her pounding heart all but stopped.

There, collapsed beneath his own portrait, was Tobiah.

Jesalis couldn’t move, she wouldn’t let her mind accept what she was seeing. It wasn’t Tobiah. It couldn’t have been. His hair was all white. Tobiah would never do anything that would drain him so. He’d promised her. He’d promised…

All of a sudden, she was running across the room for him, screaming his name. She fell onto the floor before him, clutching at him.

“ _Toby! Toby, please! You promised me! You promised you’d never leave me!_ ”

But he was cold to the touch and was not breathing. Her grief and fury welled inside her and she screamed wordlessly. Every window in the castle shook and trembled as the power exploded from her.

In moments, Godric and Helga found her there, Tobiah’s body cradled in her arms. She was still crying, pleading with him to wake. Gently, Helga took her by the arm and Godric eased Tobiah away from her grasp. She fought, but the strength was gone from her.

“But he promised me,” she was whispering, again and again, “He promised me…”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Like Part One, this story is ridiculously long. It is also in construction, but will average out at around 90 chapters like the first part. So buckle down, my friends, this'll take a while. :)


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